


Everybody Goes To Gwaine's

by alba17, disterra (mutantrentboy)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Intrigue, M/M, Romance, casablanca - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutantrentboy/pseuds/disterra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of a world torn apart by the war for magical rights, an old love, Merlin, turns Gwaine's life upside down when he appears at Gwaine's Casablanca nightclub with his new partner, the famous freedom fighter Arthur Pendragon. A Merlin/Casablanca fusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Goes To Gwaine's

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Paperlegends 2013.
> 
> Huge thanks to junkshop_disco for an absolutely amazing beta job, to vix_spes for reading, cheering and beta'ing, to incandescent for cheerleading, to my flist for their unflagging support, and to jelazakazone for extra-special cheerleading and brainstorming. And of course, to disterra (mutantrentboy)/p_sharkbait, a fantastically talented artist, who took up the challenge of creating art for this story with such enthusiasm, with beautiful results. Please remember to give direct feedback to the artist if you enjoy the art.
> 
> [Art Master Post](http://archiveofourown.org/works/921917/chapters/1790771) on AO3.  
> [Art Master Post](http://p-sharkbait.livejournal.com/45233.html) on LJ.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: We do not own any of the source material and we make no profit from this transformational work.

PROLOGUE

“My magic left.”

The grassy scent of hay filled the barn, mingled with that of horse manure and sun-baked apples. Merlin picked hay out of Arthur’s hair, which was finally a normal length. Merlin drew his fingers through strands that matched its colour. 

When Merlin saw him for the first time in a year, Arthur’s head was shaved, his eyes hollow and his skin the colour of a cold November sky. He looked like a ghost of himself and Merlin was horrified, incensed with Uther. They’d spent the last two months recuperating at a safe house, a farmhouse near Arles, not far from an abandoned abbey.The hayloft was one of their favourite places, 

“What?” Brows knit, Arthur propped himself up on his elbows. 

Merlin stared at the stalk of hay in his hand as if divining its cell structure. “It left when they took you away. I started to get it back in Paris, but it’s still iffy.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Merlin shrugged. “Didn’t want to think about it. Maybe I wanted to forget.” He flashed Arthur a generous smile. “But now you’re here, I’m sure it will all come back!” 

Arthur’s face clouded further. “Merlin, this sounds serious. Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“There was a friend in Paris, he wasn’t a sorcerer, but he did help in a way. I was a bit lost, really. He made me happy and that helped bring it back.”

“Come here.” Arthur reached over and pulled Merlin on top of him, lying back in the soft mounds of hay. He stroked Merlin’s back. “You can’t ignore this. I’ll draw up a training schedule.”

Merlin laughed. “See, this is why I didn’t say anything. We need to focus on you getting better.” He poked Arthur in the ribs. “You’re still too thin. More boeuf bourguignon for you, my lad.”

“You’re one to talk.” Arthur’s hand spanned Merlin’s slim waist. “I thought they had good food in Paris.”

“I was busy doing other things.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“No, you really don’t.” 

Arthur smiled up at him and ruffled Merlin’s hair before holding him tightly against him. His naked chest rose and fell against Merlin’s and Merlin put his head down so he could hear Arthur’s heart beat. They lay under an open window where they could feel the breeze and hear the chatter of birds in the trees, see a patch of blue sky as they made love. Arthur preferred the outside, open windows, anywhere he wasn’t closed in.

Merlin’s hand wandered down Arthur’s side, over the jut of his hip bone to his thigh. Merlin had mixed feelings about pulling hay out of his bum, but the contented look on Arthur’s face when they hung out in the hayloft was worth it. Arthur let his leg fall to the side so Merlin could stroke the inside of his thigh. He purred and stretched like a cat as Merlin brushed his fingers across the delicate skin. Knowing Arthur was sensitive there, Merlin darted out his tongue to circle Arthur’s nipple until it stiffened and Arthur’s eyelids fluttered. He brought his hand up to tweak the other nipple while continue to swirl his tongue around the first and soon Arthur was moaning with pleasure.

“I missed your chest,” Merlin murmured against Arthur’s pecs. His fingers etched the angry red knot of scar tissue over his ribcage and Arthur tried to pull away.

“Don’t.”

“Okay,” Merlin whispered, a ferocious mix of emotions stirring in his chest. More than anything, he wanted to protect Arthur from such things and it sickened him that he hadn’t been able to. What was almost worse, he didn’t know if he’d be able to in the future either.

Arthur’s palms slid down to cup Merlin’s bum. “I missed this.” 

He caressed Merlin’s sensitive cheeks and Merlin’s eyes lowered as the sensation flowed to his cock. “Mmmm, yeah. Me too.” 

He ground against Arthur and shifted his head upward to kiss him. Arthur’s mouth was cool, lips opening to invite in Merlin’s tongue. They kissed for a few minutes, the slick slide of tongues and the press of lips its own geography that Merlin could spend hours exploring.

Arthur breathed urgent words into Merlin’s mouth. “I want to fuck you. Please.” 

Merlin’s cock swelled in response and he breathed faster. He loved it when Arthur fucked him, loved the way his cock filled him, the deep thrusts inside his core. They’d been apart for so long, they had to make up for lost time. 

Arthur flipped Merlin over so he was on his back and groped for the nearby lube they kept in the hayloft (a few stray pieces of hay stuck to it). He handed it to Merlin and said, “I want to watch you.”

Merlin smirked and, maintaining eye contact with Arthur, squirted lube on his fingers. Arthur sat back on his heels between Merlin’s spread legs and watched, his hands idly playing with his stiff cock and balls. Merlin lifted his hips slightly for better access and spread the lube in his crack and then, wincing a bit, slowly inserted a slick finger into his hole. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of the finger breaching his entrance.

Arthur inhaled sharply. “Fuck, Merlin.”

Merlin opened his eyes to see Arthur stroking his erection with almost a pained expression. He laughed. “Come on, then.”

Arthur sighed with relief. “Oh, thank god,” he said and lowered himself onto Merlin, then lined his cock up at Merlin’s entrance. Merlin gripped Arthur’s hip with one hand and stroked his back with the other. They gazed into each other’s eyes as Arthur inched himself in. Merlin steadied his breathing, adjusting to the sensation, concentrating on a slow in and out, and immersed himself in Arthur’s eyes. 

Arthur’s arms shook and his breath became ragged. 

“Almost there,” Merlin murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.

With a grunt, Arthur surged in the last bit. He flashed a grin, then closed his eyes and bit his lip in concentration. Sweat plastered his fringe to his forehead. He began to thrust.

Merlin panted, aware of nothing but the pain/pleasure of Arthur’s cock sinking deep inside him. He stroked Arthur’s pumping arse and adjusted the angle as he sought the delicious bliss of Arthur’s cock.

“Oh, Arthur,” he whispered when the sweet spot bloomed inside him. 

He gripped Arthur’s hips and thrust up to meet him. Biting and teasing, Arthur grabbed his mouth with searching lips. It was Arthur’s hand on his cock, thumb slicking over the head, that put Merlin over the edge, his orgasm throwing him into a vortex of intense pleasure and emotion, a dozen different feelings bound together, love, fear, relief and everything in between, so that all he could do was cling to Arthur and sob.

Arthur collapsed onto Merlin when he came, gasping. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and he rested his face against Arthur’s, panting into the heat of his neck. 

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Arthur said quietly against Merlin’s neck. “You’ll get your magic back. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I can’t let them take you away again. I won’t allow it.” Merlin stroked the scars on Arthur’s back.

“I know, darling, I know. Shush now.”

They fell asleep with Arthur’s hand in Merlin hair, the late afternoon sun casting shafts of marigold over their nude bodies.

A silver phoenix winged through the clouds, proud and unfettered, gleaming high above the war-ravaged lands of Europe. Its propellers spun on, ignorant of the emotional turmoil of its passengers. As the aeroplane descended to the northern edge of Africa, the people on board looked down on their destination with nervous anticipation: Casablanca, the gateway to freedom. Few of them would successfully navigate the city’s corrupt labyrinths to acquire the prize they all sought: a visa to Lisbon, from whence one could board a plane to America.

All of them would eventually end up at Gwaine’s Bar Irlandaise.

Everybody came to Gwaine’s. Strolling through the club, Gwaine O’Rourke straightened his bow tie so as not to slip below the standard set by the women in their faded finery. Even amongst the fezzes, the uniforms and the most chic fashions, his white jacket stood out. That was the point; he was here to keep an eye on things. 

From his piano in the middle of the club, Percy led the band in a rendition of _It Had To Be You_. One of the fez’d doormen at the threshold of the gambling room lingered under the fronds of a palm tree as if to shield himself from the pervasive smoke. Gaius did his waiterly duty, telling a well-dressed woman that Gwaine never drank with with the patrons, and Gwaine sank down at the bar, turning his usual blind eye to the questionable activities going on around him. 

He motioned to George, the bartender, for a glass of whiskey and pulled out a cigarette. George, as ever, was in the midst of polishing glasses. At the other end of the bar was young Daegal, who stared at Gwaine with a pout. God damn it. Daegal’s eyes were unfocused and he swayed on his barstool. 

“Where were you last night?” Daegal said. 

“That’s so long ago I don’t remember,” Gwaine muttered. 

“Gwaine! You promised you’d take me out tonight,” Daegal whined.

“Not tonight, darling, you must be mistaken,” Gwaine said. “You’ve had too much to drink. I’m putting you in a taxi.” He waved Tristan over and slipped him a few francs for Daegal’s cab fare. “Get him home safely,” he said to Tristan.

“Will do, boss.” Tristan took Daegal’s arm and frogmarched him out the door.

With a sigh, Gwaine retreated to his usual table in the gambling room and settled down to his chess game. He only played against himself, so he could keep one eye on his game and one eye on the house.

At the gambling room door appeared a well-off Moroccan couple, the woman in sheer flowing robes and veil, the man in a tuxedo. Gwaine nodded his approval to the doorman. On their heels came a German in a tuxedo, snooty bastard by the looks of him. Taking the white pawn with the black knight, Gwaine shook his head. 

“I know there’s gambling in here!” the German exclaimed. “I’ve gambled everywhere from Hong Kong to Berlin. You can’t keep me out.”

“You’re mistaken, my friend, I certainly can,” Gwaine said, coming over to the door to avoid a ruckus. “Your money’s good at the bar.” German soldiers were one thing, he didn’t have much choice about them, but civilians were another story. As they stood at the doorway, that weasel Cedric pushed his way between them, excusing himself and greeting Gwaine as if they were friends.

“What? Do you know who I am?” the German demanded.

“I do. You’re lucky the bar’s open to you,” Gwaine said.

The man retreated in a huff, threatening to report Gwaine to the authorities. Fat lot of good it would do him in this town. Planning his next move, Gwaine headed back to his table, Cedric flitting after him.

“May I join you?” Cedric poured himself into the chair at Gwaine’s table. His face was sweaty; he curled over the board, gripping his drink and his cigarette. Gwaine tried to remember what his next move was; Cedric was an annoying pest.

“Gwaine, you’re quite good with those Germans. Had a lot of dealings with them?” Cedric asked, puffing energetically on his cigarette. 

“In more ways than one.”

“You heard about the German couriers? Very unfortunate.” Cedric’s voice was oily.

“Yes, it was. They got lucky. Yesterday they were just German clerks. Today they’re the honoured dead,” Gwaine said, rolling a white bishop between his fingers. Word had it the letters were missing and he’d be willing to bet Cedric had something to do with it. 

“Will you drink with me, Gwaine? Oh, I forgot, you never do.” He signalled the waiter for a drink, ordering two while he was at it. “Don’t despise me, Gwaine, for what I do.”

“Believe me, Cedric, I don’t even think about you.”

“In some ways, I help people.”

“You mean, take advantage of them, don’t you?”

“Ah. No more than Captain Leon or anyone else. And for much less. But not for long. Tonight I’ll be gone from Casablanca forever.” 

Interesting. 

Cedric pulled a fat envelope out of his rumpled jacket. “I want you to do something for me, Gwaine. Here’s something even you have never seen.”

Gwaine eyed the envelope. He thought of the German couriers.

“Letters of transit, signed by General de Gaulle. Cannot be questioned or rescinded,” Cedric whispered.

Without thinking, Gwaine reached toward the envelope. Those letters were worth gold.

“Not yet. I’m planning to sell these tonight for more money than you and I have ever dreamed of. Adieu, Casablanca.” He looked at Gwaine, assessing. “I have many friends here in Casablanca but it’s because you despise me that I trust you with these. Please keep them for me.”

Gwaine hid his surprise. “What makes you so sure I won’t turn you in?”

“Because you don’t like them either, the Germans.”

“I don’t want the letters here overnight,” Gwaine warned.

“They won’t be. My customers will be here later.” 

Gwaine put the envelope in his jacket. Cedric stood up and tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. He took the second drink the waiter brought to him from the tray. “Gwaine, I hope you’re more impressed with me now,” he said, smiling. “I’m going to take my chances at your roulette wheel.”

“Just a moment,” Gwaine said, standing to join him. “There’s a rumour that those German couriers were carrying letters of transit.”

“Oh?” Cedric’s fingers worked at the hat he was holding. He laughed nervously. “I’ve heard that rumour too. Poor devils,” he said, shaking his head. Cedric’s eyes were slyer than a fox; Gwaine could smell the deceit. 

“Yes, you’re right, Cedric. I am a little more impressed with you,” he spit out, before striding out of the gambling room into the main room of the club. 

He fantasised about all the things he could do with the letters of transit: make a fortune, chuck it all and run off to the airport; walk right out of here and leave it all behind. For whatever reason, however, Cedric had put his trust in Gwaine. Cedric was a louse, but Gwaine didn’t welsh on promises. He needed to figure out a place to stash the letters. Cedric had said he was planning to sell them tonight, so he didn’t need a permanent hiding spot, just something for a few hours. 

Gwaine thought for a moment. Nobody paid any attention to him as he walked between the tables and paused at the piano. While Percy continued to play and sing, he opened the top and slid the envelope in, easy as a leaf floating down from a tree. He took a deep breath.

He needed a drink. 

George poured him a stiff one and Gwaine gulped it while he lit a fresh cigarette. On the other side of the room, under a large palm, Captain Leon Renault, the chief of police, greeted a nearby group of German soldiers. Leon nodded to him and after he traded a few pleasantries with the soldiers, he came over. He wore his usual expression of detached bemusement. Nothing ever phased Captain Leon. He bobbed on the surface of things, always floating to the top.

“Ah, Gwaine. I’d offer to buy you a drink but I see you already have one.” Leon was dapper in the navy blue uniform of the Préfecture du Police, his hat cocked to the side before he politely removed it. “May I?” he gestured to the seat next to Gwaine.

“Of course.”

“You heard, I presume, about the murder of the German couriers?”

“A little birdie told me, yes.”

“A bad business. But it will all be resolved tonight.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes, the murderer will be arrested here, at Gwaine’s, tonight. It shall be quite impressive. Mind you, I chose you over the Blue Parrot. I hope you feel appreciated.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

“Oh, I am. We know the identity of the murderer.”

“I see. I won’t get in your way, .”

“Please don’t. Don’t think you can warn him, Gwaine.”

“Assuming I know who it is. But I stick my neck out for nobody, so no worries there.”

Out the window, he noticed the night plane to Lisbon ascending. A lot of people would like to be on that plane. Looking around the club, he’d guess three-quarters of the clientele had hopes of leaving Casablanca and making it to America: the English couple nursing martinis in the corner; the Italian woman chattering to George over a glass of red wine; the Romanian newlyweds absorbed in each other at a table in the corner.

“The plane to Lisbon,” Leon remarked. “Do you wish you were on it?”

“Not especially.” Gwaine smoked. “What’s in Lisbon?”

“The clipper to America. As if you didn’t know.” Leon watched Gwaine thoughtfully and sipped his drink. “You know, I’ve often wondered what keeps you from returning to Ireland or going to America yourself. Ireland is neutral, after all. Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with the mayor’s wife? I like to think you killed a man, it’s the romantic in me.”

“A combination of all three. Except it was the mayor’s son.”

Leon arched a brow. “And how did you get to Casablanca, of all places?”

“My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.”

“Waters? What waters? We're in the desert.”

“I was misinformed.”

One of his employees emerged from the gambling room and whispered in Gwaine’s ear. The cashier needed more money to make a large payout.

“I’ll be just a minute, Leon.” He started up the stairs to his office.

“I need to talk to you about something else, Gwaine,” Leon said. 

“No problem, come along.”

Gwaine’s office was up a short flight of stairs with a small landing from which one could look down at the club. It was furnished with dark wooden furniture and intricate lamps, a deep leather sofa. As Gwaine opened the safe and counted the money, Leon said, “We’ll be having an important guest from NatPom tonight, Gwaine. Major Uther Pendragon has just arrived. He’s freshening up at his hotel and will be arriving here shortly. I want him to witness the arrest.”

“He came all the way here to witness the efficiency of your administration?” Gwaine handed the money to his gambling room supervisor and closed the door. 

Major Pendragon, or Uther, as he preferred to be called, was notorious. Word had it he was personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of concentration camp victims and a slew of bizarre medical experiments on prisoners. NatPom and the Germans had made an alliance early on in NatPom’s invasion of Europe, each finding the other useful for a variety of reasons, all of which sat ill at ease with Gwaine and the idea of them here, in his bar. Magic users were one of the groups the Germans categorised as sub-human, so Uther’s campaign to rid the world of magic meshed with their own goal to flush all magic users out of Germany, if not Europe altogether.

“Er, no, not exactly. There is someone coming to Casablanca who will likely pay a great deal of money to acquire a visa. Someone NatPom, and Uther in particular, would like to get their hands on.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“Arthur Pendragon? Uther’s son?” Gwaine was stunned. The entire world knew of their feud since the younger Pendragon had become a leader of the magical rights movement. The son had chosen a path antithetical to everything the father believed in. What was Pendragon doing in Casablanca? Everyone knew he had escaped one of Uther’s concentration camps the year before. NatPom had been in hot pursuit of him across Europe ever since.

“Gwaine, this is the first time I’ve seen you impressed.”

“Well, Pendragon isn’t just anyone.”

“It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get to America. Arthur Pendragon must stay in Casablanca. Major Uther has arrived to see to it personally.”

“I’ll be interested to see how he manages to escape.”

Leon’s default laissez-faire attitude slipped. “Not under my watch, he won’t.”

“Twenty thousand francs says he will.”

Leon’s mouth quirked. Gwaine knew he couldn’t resist a bet. “Seriously? Make it ten,” Leon said. “I’m only a poor corrupt official. He can’t go anywhere without an exit visa. Or should I say two.”

“Two?”

“He travels with a companion.”

“He’ll take one. Not unless he’s more of a romantic than you.” 

“I think not. If he didn’t leave the fellow in Marseilles or Oran, he won’t leave him in Casablanca. Besides, I’ve seen the companion. His eyes can go quite golden at times.”

“I see.” Arthur had no magic, but he was a hero to many magic users. Gwaine wasn’t surprised his companion was a sorcerer, even though Arthur’s views about magic had caused the rift between him and his father.

One of Leon’s aides entered to announce the arrival of Major Uther. Leon excused himself and Gwaine followed him out of his office down to the club.

Major Uther Pendragon strode into the room, a handful of minions in his wake. He was resplendent in dark military garb, numerous medals glinting on his chest. His face was sharp and arrogant as he noticed Leon hurrying over to greet him. The group settled at a table and Uther ordered Champagne and caviar. 

“I recommend Veuve Clicquot ‘26. A good French wine,” Leon said. He told Uther the police would shortly arrest the murderer of the German couriers.

“I expected no less,” Uther intoned. He crossed his legs and smoked, his air casual. His eyes, however, were those of a hawk surveying its prey, hooded and dark. When the Champagne arrived he lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip. A slow grin unfurled. The club filled with whispers about his presence, some turning to stare, others packing up their things and leaving in disgust or fear. Uther inspired strong feelings. 

As the NatPom soldiers enjoyed their drinks, gendarmes took up positions at the doors to the club. Several others entered the gaming room and asked Cedric to come with them. Escorted by the officers, Cedric cashed in his chips, while the elegant Moroccan couple hurried to gather their winnings and Gaius paused with a tray full of drinks, looking on with concern. 

Gwaine didn’t like trouble in his club. It interfered with business. He waited at the bar, gripping his glass of whiskey. After entering the main room, Cedric made a fast break for the exit, slamming the door in the gendarmes’ faces, then pulling a gun free of his jacket and firing it into the air. 

“Gwaine! Help me!” Cedric grabbed Gwaine’s jacket in desperation. His oily demeanour had turned sharp and jagged with panic.

What a strange idea of him people had, Gwaine thought. “Forget it, Cedric. You’ll never get away.” Cedric had dug his own grave. As the gendarmes pulled the wretch away, his eyes bulged with fear and his face was slick with sweat. Gwaine muttered, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” 

Gwaine tried to get the evening back on track. “It’s all over now, people,” he announced. He ran a club, not a police station. “Just relax and get back to having a good time.” Gwaine nodded at Percy to play and the band dived right back into a jazzy song. Gwaine hoped the music would help get people’s minds back on drinking and gambling, where they belonged.

Gwaine grimaced when Leon called him over to meet Uther. “Gwaine, this is Major Uther Pendragon of NatPom. Major, Gwaine is the proprietor of this establishment.”

“Pleased to meet you, Major.” As a rule, Gwaine was polite to all his patrons, but sometimes it was a struggle, especially when the hand he was shaking had been responsible for millions of deaths. Sure, the good Major had avoided the spotlight but it was his political philosophy, his National Party to Outlaw Magic, that had crushed all resistance from his home turf in Britain to swathes of the continent. Those most resistant to his politics he sent to concentration camps to be “re-educated,” a process that often involved grueling manual labour and sometimes even torture. There were rumours that Uther had had his own son tortured.

“How do you do?” Uther said, looking Gwaine over with predatory intent. “One hears many things about Mr. O’Rourke. I’d love to find out the truth. If you don’t mind. Please share a drink with us.”

Gwaine could see there was no choice in the matter. 

“So, Mr. Gwaine, what is your nationality?”

“I’m a drunkard.” 

“Come now, Gwaine - may I call you Gwaine? - everyone knows you’re Irish. Although arguably it’s the same thing.”

“Do they now?” Gwaine gave it a bit of an Irish lilt just to tweak the old bastard.

“And you came here from Paris at the time of the occupation.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“How do you feel about the NatPom taking over your beloved Paris, eh? Not quite so magical as it was once.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Gwaine is completely neutral about everything,” Leon supplied.

“Is he? Not according to my sources. You’ve an interesting history, Mr. O’Rourke.” Uther pulled a little black book out of his jacket. “Gwaine O’Rourke, Irish. Age, twenty-seven. Cannot return to his country.” Uther looked up. “The reasons are a little vague. We also know about your sojourn in Paris and your time in Spain.”

Gwaine had to tread carefully. He reached for the little book and Uther let him take it. “Are my eyes really brown?” 

“Let me cut to the chase here, Mr. O’Rourke. An enemy of NatPom is coming to Casablanca and we’re checking up on anyone who can help us in this matter.”

Gwaine glanced at Leon. “My interest in Arthur Pendragon is purely a matter of sport.”

“My _son_ has worked relentlessly against our interests. He has slipped through our fingers too many times. It will not happen again.” Uther’s jaw tightened. 

Gwaine stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, my business is running a saloon, not politics.” 

“All right, if that’s how you want to handle this.” Uther narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be speaking again, Mr. O’Rourke.” 

Gwaine walked away from the table, feeling Uther’s eyes on him.

Tugging at his sweaty collar, Merlin let his gaze skitter around the club, looking for the man called Cedric. If Arthur - who stood at his side, tall and proud - also noticed the German soldiers at the bar, it didn’t show when he announced their arrival.

“I reserved a table. Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur announced to a white-haired waiter.

“Yes, Monsieur Pendragon. Right this way.”

Merlin tried to slow down his racing heart and behave as if this were a normal night out. He wore his remaining good suit, one of the few things he still had from the old days. There was an undercurrent of desperation to the jolly atmosphere that pervaded the club. He suspected he wasn’t the only one trying to put a good face on a dire situation. As the waiter showed them to their table, they passed by a giant of a man playing the piano, who gave Merlin a curious glance. 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said, after giving their drink order to the waiter. “We’ll get the letters of transit. It’s all arranged.” 

“I know, so you’ve said a million times. I can’t help worrying, that’s what I do.”

Arthur patted him on the thigh and gave him a little smile. “I know. But you don’t have to. Just leave it to me.” That’s what Arthur always told him, even though Merlin was one of the most powerful sorcerers in Europe. At least he was supposed to be. His magic had all but deserted him when Arthur did, and had not completely returned yet. He’d gone through a rough period with his magic and it was not completely back to normal yet. Merlin thought a part of Arthur would always think of him as the naive village boy whom he’d first met, no matter how hard Merlin worked to show he was a man of the world now.

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if we’re stuck here? It’s not exactly neutral territory.” Merlin glanced at the knot of Germans making merry at the bar.

“Well, technically, it _is_ neutral. They can’t do anything to us here. But we’re not going to be stuck here. We’re flying to America as soon as we get those letters of transit. Then we’ll be home free.” His tone brooked no doubts.

The waiter appeared with their drinks, cutting off the conversation. They were quiet as he served them. “Just arrived?”

Arthur smiled politely. “Yes.” 

“I must say, you look familiar. Are you in the pictures?”

Merlin caught Arthur’s eye. “Not exactly,” Arthur said.

Fortunately, the waiter retreated without asking more questions. While Arthur was free to go where he wished outside of NatPom territory, it was safer to keep a low profile until they got to America.

“I don’t see anyone of Cedric’s description,” Merlin said quietly, looking around. 

“Nor do I. But perhaps he’s in a different part of the club. I think there’s a gaming room through that door.”

An attractive man with short dark hair approached their table. “Hello, messieurs. You look like you might be on your way to America, is that right?”

People knew entirely too much about them. “That’s right,” Merlin said, his leg jittery. On the other hand, everyone in Casablanca was on their way to America, so it was probably safe to admit it. Maybe this man could help them find Cedric.

The man showed them a gold signet ring. “You will find a market there for this ring. I’m forced to sell it at great sacrifice.” He gave them a significant look.

“I hardly think...” Arthur said.

“Perhaps for the other monsieur?” The man flipped the ring open to reveal something hidden under the stone. Merlin and Arthur leaned their heads together to examine it. It was the emblem of the anti-NatPom movement, a gold dragon on a red background. Merlin looked up quickly at the man. 

“Actually, yes, we’re very interested,” Merlin said.

“Yes, definitely,” Arthur agreed. “What is your name?”

“Elyan of Camelot, sir, at your service.” Elyan sat down with them.

“From Camelot?” Arthur said, more softly. He shook Elyan’s hand with enthusiasm. “I’m so glad to meet you. I don’t remember you.”

“We probably traveled in different circles. My father was a mechanic.”

“You must stay and have a drink with us. I’d love to talk about Camelot. I miss it.” Arthur often talked about his hometown as if it were a shining castle on a hill.

Elyan looked from side to side, wary. “We don’t have long. Just pretend I’m trying to sell you the ring.”

A man in a French military uniform came up behind Arthur. “Arthur...” Merlin said sharply.

“Meet you at the bar in a few minutes,” Arthur said quietly to Elyan. “Don’t go without talking to me.” More loudly he said, “I’m afraid we’ve no need for such a ring. I’m very sorry.”

“All right, if that’s your decision,” Elyan said, then retreated to the bar.

“Good evening.” A smooth French-accented voice greeted them. Merlin looked up at a tall man in the uniform of the local police. Curly auburn hair peeked out from his hat and twinkling blue eyes examined them with not a small amount of cunning. “Captain Leon Renault at your service, Mssrs. Pendragon and Emrys. Prefect of Police.” He took a small, precise bow. “Welcome to our fair city. Should you need anything during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask,” he said as if he were a hotel concierge instead of a Vichy lackey. 

Merlin and Arthur rose and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” Merlin said. Apparently the police were well-informed in Casablanca. He and Arthur would need to tread carefully.

“Thank you, Captain,” said Arthur. “We hope to be here only a short time.”

Captain Renault raised his eyebrow. “You and everybody else.”

“Do you not think we’ll be able to leave soon?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, it’s not for me to say. If you’ve the necessary papers, there will be no problem.”

“Would you care to join us?” Arthur said, gesturing at their table. 

Merlin eyed him, wondering if he was just being polite or if he had some other reason for being so friendly to the police captain. The Vichy government had not always been so accommodating to Arthur; he had reason to fear them.

“I’d be delighted,” Captain Renault gave a charming smile and sat down. “Gaius, a bottle of your best Champagne, and put it on my bill,” he called to the waiter. 

“No, please, Captain,” Merlin protested.

“Tut, it’s a little game we play. They put it on my bill and I tear the bill up. It’s very convenient. And you may call me Leon. It’s far too warm in Casablanca to stand on formalities.” 

Merlin laughed.

“And besides, I’d heard Msr. Emrys was one of the most handsome men to grace our continent.” His eyes fairly sparkled in Merlin’s direction. “Seeing him in person, I can see such characterisation was no exaggeration.” He passed Merlin a glass of Champagne and let his fingers brush his in the process.

Arthur glared at the captain as Merlin thanked Leon. 

“To speak nothing of you, Mr. Pendragon. The newspapers do you no great service, for you are much more attractive in the flesh.” Merlin bristled at Renault’s top to toe perusal of Arthur. He took a quick drink of the Champagne, which, as promised, was of the highest quality. 

Arthur waved his hand. “We have more important things to attend to, Captain Leon.”

“Oh, come, my dear fellow, there’s always time to appreciate the finer things in life. We French may have ceded control of our country to the Germans, but we have something to teach the rest of the world in terms of culture.”

The pianist started up a new number, one of Merlin’s favourites, and though he was a mountain of a fellow, his fingers were agile, diving into the tune with gusto. 

“Captain Leon, who is that man at the piano?” Merlin asked.

“Percy? He came from Paris with Gwaine.”

A door opened in Merlin’s mind and memories rushed in. Panic percolated in his stomach. “Who is Gwaine?”

Captain Leon smiled broadly. “Monsieur, you’re in Gwaine’s establishment and Gwaine is...”

“What, Captain Leon? What is Gwaine?” Merlin asked with trepidation.

“Why, Msr. Emrys, Gwaine is the type of fellow, if I were differently inclined, I could fall in love with.” He tapped his cigarette and took a sip of Champagne, nonchalant. “But who am I, talking about Gwaine when you are sitting here with Msr. Pendragon?” He looked mischievous. Captain Leon was a little too canny, Merlin decided.

Paris and Gwaine. It was a life he’d put firmly behind him, before the NatPom invasion, before he found Arthur again. He never expected to see Gwaine again, didn’t even know if he were still alive. He took a hefty swallow of his Champagne and slammed the glass down too hard on the table.

“Everything all right?” Arthur asked.

Merlin stared at Percy. “It’s nothing,” he said, finally tearing his gaze away to look at Arthur. “Just remembering something.”

Arthur’s eyes softened and he took Merlin’s hand under the table. He lifted his glass with his other hand. “A toast. To America.”

Merlin gave him a little smile. He needed to focus on the future. “To America,” he said, clinking his glass with Arthur’s. Nonetheless, his eyes roved the room, looking for Gwaine. 

Captain Leon rocketed out of his chair. “Major Pendragon.”

Major Uther Pendragon materialised at their table as if out of nowhere. He stood still as a monument, ice chips of eyes directed at Arthur. Arthur glared back. Merlin’s blood drained from his face and silence spread through the room. Merlin’s hand settled on Arthur’s shoulder. It had been a long time since he’d seen Uther and since then, many things had happened. Merlin had once hoped that he could make Uther see sense, but Uther’s scorched earth war on magic shattered that fantasy. What he’d done to Arthur was unforgivable.

Captain Leon cleared his throat. “Obviously you know one another.”

“Yes. Arthur. Mr. _Emrys_.” Uther said his name as if it were a curse word. 

Merlin and Arthur didn’t respond. Merlin’s magic whispered darkly in his head. He wondered if he could get away with killing Uther right here in front of his men and Captain Leon. Damn it, if only he could count on his magic to work. 

Arthur addressed Captain Leon. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not gracious, Captain. You can understand why. I’m a citizen of the free Magical Union. I do not acknowledge NatPom.”

“You are a subject of the NatPom state, Arthur,” Uther gritted out. “And you are my son. Do not talk to me about this Magical Union.” He spat out the words like rotten fruit. “This is Emrys talking.”

Arthur’s face flushed and he stood up. “No it isn’t, Father. I take my citizenship seriously. I made a vow to defend the Union.”

How many times did they have to go over this same ground? Merlin shot up next to Arthur. “Arthur is his own man, Uther. He’s not under my control.”

Uther fired a withering glance at Merlin. “Some day you’ll regret this insanity, Arthur,” he said. “I know you intend to travel to America to continue your fruitless fight against me. I believe Captain Leon has something to say about that.”

“Yes, Mssrs. Emrys and Pendragon, may I remind you that you are now on French soil?” Leon said. “There are some matters we need to discuss arising from your presence here.”

“This is neither the time nor the place, Captain,” Arthur said, still staring daggers at Uther. 

“Then I suggest tomorrow morning at the Préfecture du Police. Nine sharp,” Uther said, snapping his mouth closed.

“Fine,” Arthur said with a clenched jaw. “We’ll see you there.”

Leon and Uther joined the Germans at the bar and Arthur and Merlin sank down into their seats.

Arthur curled his hands into fists on top of the table. “This time he intends to stop us for good.”

“He’s tried before and it didn’t work. I won’t let him stop us.” Merlin let his eyes flash gold and didn’t share his self-doubts with Arthur.

“You’re right of course, Merlin. And I won’t either. Never let me forget how valuable you are to me. We’ve got to get to America.”

“We need to get those letters of transit,” Merlin said. “Where’s this Cedric?” 

They looked around the club again, but didn’t see anyone who matched Cedric’s description.

“I see Elyan over there. I’d better go find out what he knows,” Arthur said.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I think just me for the moment.” 

“Arthur, come on...” 

“I really think it’s best that I speak to Elyan alone. There’s the Camelot connection and he might be nervous. He’ll be more at ease with just me.” 

Merlin huffed out a breath. “All right.” He didn’t want to argue right now but he was fed up with Arthur trying to fight his battles alone when Merlin was probably the most effective weapon he had. “I’ll wait here for you,” Merlin said. 

Arthur went over to talk to Elyan while Merlin ordered another drink and turned his attention to the music. It was a shock to see Percy again after all this time. It gave Merlin an unexpectedly warm feeling to see him playing the piano, still singing some of the same songs he performed all those years ago in Paris. When the waiter, Gaius, passed by, Merlin hailed him. “Will you ask the piano player to come here, please?” 

“Yes, monsieur.”

Merlin observed Arthur and Elyan talking softly with their heads together. He hoped that Arthur was getting some useful information. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them. Uther and Leon were watching from the other side of room. Merlin gulped his Champagne.

Percy rolled his piano over to Merlin’s table. “I never expected to see you again, Merlin.” 

“So it is you, Percy.” Merlin took the full measure of Percy’s handsome face. “I thought I recognised you. There aren’t many piano players your size. ”

“I’m surprised to see you here. But then, the whole world comes to Casablanca eventually.” He settled on the piano bench to play and picked out a few notes of a jazz number.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Merlin said. “Play some of the old songs, why don’t you?”

“If you say so, Merlin.” Percy looked uneasy but he began to play a familiar tune. Merlin remembered the grey rooftops of Paris, sitting at Café de Flore, an espresso or a glass of red wine in front of him, Gwaine arguing with him about which restaurants had the snootiest waiters. 

“Where’s Gwaine, Percy?” He may as well find out sooner rather than later. He couldn’t bear not knowing.

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him all night.” 

Sure. “When will he be back?”

“Don’t know. He...he went home.”

“Does he always leave so early?”

Percy looked down at the keys as he continued playing. “He’s got a boy up at the Blue Parrot, Merlin. Goes up there all the time. That’s probably where he is.”

“You used to be a much better liar, Percy.”

“Leave him alone, Merlin. You’re bad luck to him.”

Maybe he was. Things hadn’t ended very well between them. “Percy, play it once for me, will you?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Merlin.”

“ _As Time Goes By._ You remember it.”

“I’m a little rusty.”

“I’ll hum it for you.”

Merlin began humming it. Percy played the first few bars, softly at first.

“Sing it, Percy.” 

Percy sang, his voice quiet and melancholy.

__

You must remember this.  
A kiss is just a kiss.  
A sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply, as time goes by.

Merlin remembered Gwaine’s flat, lying naked together with Gwaine, tangled in sweaty sheets. They hadn’t talked much; they didn’t share their life stories. The only thing Merlin had wanted was the warm light in Gwaine’s brown eyes, their shared breath as they gasped into each other’s mouths.

The door to the gambling room slammed open and Gwaine strode out, looking elegant in a white evening jacket and black bow tie.

__

And when two lovers woo,  
They both say I love you,  
On that you can rely.  
No matter what the future brings, as time goes by.

Gwaine stalked up to Percy. “Percy, I thought I told you never to play - ” He stopped short.

Merlin and Gwaine stared at each other. Merlin’s heart raced; the room washed away in woozy streaks. He couldn’t look away from Gwaine’s shocked face. The brown eyes were achingly familiar, a few more crinkles at the edges perhaps, and he had the same luxurious sweep of hair. Merlin was vaguely aware that Arthur returned to the table, with Leon not far behind, but it happened behind a mirror, in some other reality.

“Well, you were talking about Gwaine and here he is,” Leon said, as if their meeting made his entire day. “Msr. Emrys, may I present - ” 

“Hello, Merlin,” Gwaine interrupted.

“Hello, Gwaine.” 

Like a thwarted matchmaker, Leon said, “Oh, you’ve already met, I see.” 

Merlin’s manners propelled him forward, stepping stones over quicksand. “This is Mr. Pendragon, Gwaine. Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin said, wishing he had an excuse to invoke the invisibility charm.

“One hears a great deal about Gwaine in Casablanca,” Arthur shook Gwaine’s hand.

“And about Arthur Pendragon everywhere.” 

They eyed each other warily.

“Won’t you join us for a drink?” Arthur asked.

Leon chimed in, “Oh no, Gwaine never - ”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Gwaine said, taking a seat, and shifting his gaze to Merlin.

“Well, a precedent is being broken. Gaius!” Leon called.

“Congratulations on a very interesting cafe, Gwaine,” Arthur said.

“And congratulations to you as well.”

“On what?”

“Your work of course.”

“Thank you. I try.” 

“We all try. You succeed.”

“I can’t get over you two,” Leon said. “Merlin was talking about you earlier in a way that made me quite jealous.”

Merlin’s heart ratcheted up and he glanced between Arthur and Gwaine. “I wasn’t sure it was you,” he said. Gwaine’s eyes were searchlights into Merlin’s soul. His insides squirmed. He clung to polite conversation like a rock in the middle of a riptide. ”Let’s see, the last time we were together...”

“Paris. La Belle Aurore,” Gwaine said stiffly.

Merlin swallowed. “The day the Germans marched into Paris.” A vision wafted through his mind, Champagne bottles in disarray on a cafe table, Gwaine’s arms in a tight embrace around him. 

“A difficult day to forget.”

“Yes.” Everything had changed that day.

“I remember every detail. The Germans wore grey, you wore blue.” Gwaine’s tone was bitter.

“I put that suit away,” Merlin said. “When the Germans march out, I’ll wear it again.”

“Gwaine, you’re becoming quite human,” Leon noted. “I suppose we have Merlin to thank for that.” 

Oh good lord. Leon needed to shut up. As if he could sense Merlin’s discomfort, Arthur said, “Merlin, I don’t want to be the one to say it, but it’s getting late.” 

“Quite right, Mr. Pendragon,” Leon said. “It wouldn’t do for the captain to break the curfew and have to fine himself.”

“Cheque, please.” Arthur signaled to the waiter.

When the waiter handed it to him, Gwaine snatched it. “I’ll take care of that.”

Leon looked surprised. “Another precedent gone by the wayside.”

As they made their way to the door, Merlin told Gwaine, “Say goodnight to Percy for me, will you?”

“I will.”

“No one plays _As Time Goes By_ like he does.”

Gwaine nodded. “He hasn’t played it in a long time.”

“Well, good night,” Merlin said. He’d like to talk to Gwaine but not here with everyone else. In particular, not with Arthur. 

“Good night.”

The night air rolled over Merlin’s skin like a glass of ice water after the closeness of the club. 

“So, you knew Gwaine?” Arthur asked. “He’s a puzzling character. What sort is he?” 

“I knew him in Paris, but I couldn’t really say. That was a long time ago.” Merlin silently willed Arthur not to ask him any more questions about Gwaine.

Arthur looked at him for a moment, as if he were expecting Merlin to say more, but he didn’t. The beam of the airport watchtower bathed them in light for a second before passing on. 

“Merlin, was he the friend you mentioned to me, the one who helped you regain your magic?”

Merlin studied his shoes, then looked at Arthur. “Yes, he was.”

“Ah. I’m glad to meet him, then.”

“It’s odd to see him here, in Casablanca, after all this time,” Merlin admitted. “I didn’t even know if he was still alive.”

As they joined Leon, the captain said, “Tomorrow at nine at the Préfecture, then, messieurs?”

“Yes nine it is,” Arthur said.

“We’ll be there,” Merlin added.

They said good night and hopped into a cab, leaving Leon on the curb, smoking and looking bemused.

Gwaine poured another whiskey and threw it down his throat, relishing the burn. If only his memories could be burned away as easily. Ghosts jangled and poked at him in a tortured dance; his mind refused to succumb to the liquor’s lulling effects. His heart was either too empty or too full, it was impossible to tell which.

“Boss.” In the empty club, Percy’s voice was jarring, but not enough to pull Gwaine out of his funk. He couldn’t breathe, Merlin’s surprise appearance on his turf like iron bands around his chest. The wound he thought so well healed was raw and oozing, his whole body tightened, and only more whiskey could make it feel better. 

Merlin was even more handsome now he’d grown into himself; his body thicker with muscle, his features more sharply drawn, but still with those nighttime eyes and the cheekbones that had etched a path into Gwaine’s heart, the black velvet thatch of hair begging to be touched. God. He remembered too well the hours they spent in bed in Paris, shutting out the crazy wartime world and losing themselves in each other.

“Boss, aren’t you going to bed?”

“No. Sit down and have a drink with me, Percy.” Gwaine pulled out a chair.

“Not me, thanks.”

“Fine, don’t have a drink.”

“But I’m not sleepy either. Boss, let’s get out of here.”

“Can’t. Waiting for a bloke.” When Merlin and Arthur had said goodnight, he’d sensed that Merlin wanted to talk some more. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe he’d sneak out of their hotel room after Arthur had fallen asleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about Gwaine any more than Gwaine could stop thinking about him.

Percy blew out a breath. “Gwaine. Don’t do this to yourself. He’s nothing but trouble to you.”

“He’s coming back. I know he is.” Gwaine poured another glass and some of the whiskey slopped onto the table.

“We’ll go for a drive, yeah? Just you and me, have a few more drinks, maybe do some fishing. Change of scenery. Just until he’s gone.”

“Shut up and get out of here, Percy.” Gwaine didn’t need Percy to feel sorry for him. This could be his only chance to talk to Merlin alone. He was staying right where he was.

“If you think I’m leaving you here like this, you’re crazier than I thought. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Gwaine took a long look at his piano player. Why’d he have to be so damn loyal at the most inconvenient times? Like he knew what was better for Gwaine than Gwaine himself. Fuck him.

Percy sat down at the piano and plucked out a tune like he was going to wait out Gwaine. Gwaine was wise to his tricks. He wiped his mouth and slammed down his glass. “They grab Cedric and in walks Merlin. It’s the way of the world, I suppose.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Percy, if it’s December 1941 here, what time is it in Ireland?

“Don’t know. Lost my watch.”

“Bet they’re all asleep there. Asleep all over the world.” Only Gwaine was awake, in a bar in Casablanca, across the ocean on the edge of a huge continent filled with strangers, nursing his wounds and waiting, forever waiting, like everyone else in this godforsaken place. Except he had no place else to go. Was Merlin what he’d been waiting for? He didn’t know.

And what if he was? The universe didn’t see fit to fix things to his liking. Now Arthur, the big damn hero, was in the picture, fused to Merlin’s hip. If everything Leon said was true, it was unlikely that Gwaine could sever their connection. He wasn’t afraid of Arthur. Probably a pompous arsehole. Gwaine was just as good a man as any Pendragon. Thought he could saunter into Casablanca and get whatever he wanted. Not likely. Gwaine snorted.

The problem was the way things ended in Paris; but the look in Merlin’s eyes tonight...Maybe there was something still there.

He had to talk to Merlin again, alone, find out what had happened in Paris and why. If Merlin hadn’t shown up in _his own fucking bar_ , he wouldn’t have to think about this at all, he’d be getting happily soused with Daegal and looking forward to a night of debauchery.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world, why’d he have to walk into mine?” Gwaine dropped his head in his hand. “What are you playing, Percy?”

“Just a little something of my own.”

“Stop it, you know what I want to hear.”

“No, I don’t.”

Arsehole. “You played it for him and you can damn well play it for me. If he can take it, I can.”

“I don’t think I can remember it.”

“Just play it.”

“All right.” Percy played _As Time Goes By_ once again. The soft notes drifted through the empty club, wisps of memory and broken illusions...

...The sound of English voices attracted Gwaine’s attention and he twisted around in his seat at the zinc bar of Le Lapin Blanc to see a fantasy of a young man, slender and tall, with black hair and snapping blue eyes, surrounded by blokes peppering him with questions. Gwaine had been nursing a beer and eyeing the red-haired fellow at the end of the bar who reminded him of Patrick from home, but this one was much more interesting. From what Gwaine could hear, he had recently arrived in Paris and his pals wanted all the news from home.

Gwaine sipped his beer and watched. He was a fine thing, this lad, dressed on the conventional side given the bar’s clientele: grey suit, white shirt and navy tie, presentable but not flashy. The young man’s dark hair swept back over his ears, a little longer than was the style, but it suited him, and Gwaine’s fingers itched to sink his fingers into those waves. What’s more, there was something about his voice that snuck right under his skin and warmed him all over, made him think of the whispering of dirty thoughts into his ear.

As if he knew he was being observed, the young man looked up and met Gwaine’s gaze. Good lord, his eyes were like chips of the sky. He had to meet this fellow. Gwaine flashed him a wide smile and tossed his hair in a way that usually reeled them right in. In return, he hit the jackpot: the boy’s cheeks flushed pink above a winsome grin.

“Merlin, why don’t you buy us a round? Seeing as you just got into town. Only fair, what?” A friend slung his arm over the young man’s shoulder.

Merlin groused, then shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar, a few feet away from Gwaine. Merlin held out a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. On his hand sat a signet ring and as he followed the bartender with his eyes he met Gwaine’s gaze. A small smile; Gwaine’s stomach fluttered, but Merlin got his drinks and was on his way.

Time to go to the W.C. Gwaine maneuvered through the throng towards Merlin’s group and just _happened_ to stumble into Merlin, causing his drink to spill all over his front.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Gwaine said, dabbing at Merlin’s jacket with his handkerchief. “Too many people.” He gave Merlin his most winning smile and peered up at him through his fringe. 

Merlin laughed. “No problem.” His blue eyes danced.

Gwaine laughed also, continuing to wipe his handkerchief on the maroon stain spreading across Merlin’s jacket and even worse, his white shirt. “I’m not sure this is working. Let me just...” It was then that he looked up into Merlin’s face and really noticed the cheekbones. His hand hesitated - it wasn’t doing much good anyway. Damn, the man was good looking. They were standing so close, crushed in by the crowd, and fuck, his heart was racing...

“What?” Merlin arched his eyebrows. 

“Uh.” The words piled up in his throat like cars in a traffic jam. “I’ll just...see you around. Gotta take a piss.” Gwaine pressed his handkerchief into Merlin’s hand and rushed to the restroom like his arse was on fire. 

He stood at the basin, looked at himself in the mirror with a stern expression and threw water on his face. This was bad. Very, very bad. He’d lost all composure, rendered speechless by a beautiful boy named Merlin, of all things. Get it together, O’Rourke, he told himself, he’s a boy, not the freaking NatPom secret police. You know how to handle boys. He pulled himself up straight and marched back out.

He went right up to Merlin, ignoring his friends’ curious looks. “Let’s start over,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m Gwaine O’Rourke. Can I buy you a drink?” 

Merlin gave him a long look before shaking his hand. “Merlin Emrys. Um, you spilled wine on my best suit.” The stain was still viciously red. It wasn’t going to come out.

“I know the best places to buy a new one, cheap. I’ll fill you in over that drink. Better yet, I’ll take you shopping and buy it for you.”

His friends ‘oh-hoed’ and Merlin chuckled. “All right, can’t say no to that. Just a drink though.”

Gwaine put his hands up. “Just a drink,” he agreed, sure that would give him enough opportunity to charm the pants off Merlin. 

Merlin’s irreverent humour and basic goodness were bewitching. Fun, interesting, smart - not to mention drop dead gorgeous - he was more than enough for Gwaine to abandon his usual disengagement in matters of the heart and let himself have some feelings for once.

And when Gwaine found out Merlin had magic? That was the cherry on top, because if there was nothing that turned on Gwaine like a boy with magic. He was lost; he threw himself into the sea of his infatuation and sank into its depths like an anchor. It was as good a way to wait out the war as any.

In the end, Gwaine had been wrong to open his heart the way he had and he’d been suffering for it ever since.

The war raged across the globe, but Merlin had to turn up here of all places, like a bad penny, the very place Gwaine had chosen to escape from it all and forget. He picked up his tumbler of whiskey and downed the rest of it, determined to blot out what little remained of his consciousness, then tossed it carelessly on the table. It rolled off and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Percy picked up the glass on put it back on the table. Good old Percy. 

The door to the club opened and a silhouetted figure stood there, the streetlights bright behind him.

Merlin. Gwaine would know that shape anywhere. Unless this was a drunken hallucination formed from Gwaine’s fantasies. His stomach was queasy as Merlin strode toward him. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, taking off his hat and crumpling its brim in his fingers. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Here, have a drink,” Gwaine said, gesturing to the bottle. “I was going to have my first drink with you. Isn’t that right, Percy? Didn’t I say that?”

“Boss...” Percy started, “Call it a night.” 

“No, Gwaine, I’m not drinking with you tonight,” Merlin said. He stood too far away, he needed to come closer.

“Especially tonight.” Damn it, if Merlin had to be here, he was going to drink with him. His presence sliced Gwaine’s skin like shards of glass. More whiskey, because he needed to be more numb for this. In the shadows of the club, Merlin was an alluring spectre, pale face and dark hair, so bloody beautiful it made Gwaine want to cry. With shaky hands, he poured himself another drink. 

Glancing at Percy perched at the bar, Merlin sat down across from Gwaine and said in a low voice. “We’ve got to talk. Please.”

“Please, he says.” The whiskey went down easy now, like water. He couldn’t even taste it. “Since when you did you become so solicitous?” 

Merlin’s face squeezed tight. 

“Why’d you have to come to Casablanca, Merlin? There are other places.”

“I didn’t know you were here, Gwaine. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known.”

“Your voice sounds exactly the same. I can still hear it: ‘Gwaine, I’ll go anywhere with you. Let’s get on a train and never stop.”

Merlin’s eyes skittered around the dark room and over at Percy again. “Please don’t. I understand how you must feel, but just...don’t.”

“Oh, you understand how I feel.” Sure. “Do you know how many days we were together?”

“I didn’t count them.”

“I did. Every one of them, all the way up until the last one, which was just brilliant. Bloke standing in the rain on the train platform with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out.”

They’d been so happy the day before, the last day before the Germans arrived. They’d spent it at Le Belle Aurore...

“Henri wants us to finish this bottle and then three more. He says he’ll water his garden with Champagne before letting the Germans get it,” Gwaine said, sidling up next to Merlin with Champagne glasses and a bottle from behind the bar. They were alone, aside from Percy playing the piano like Nero fiddling while Rome burned. The silence was eerie; La Belle Aurore was normally a cheerful place brimming with conversation and camaraderie, red and white checked tablecloths on the tables, warm wooden trim above the white stucco walls. Merlin and Gwaine were regulars when Gwaine wasn’t pitching in behind the bar. Merlin would stare from behind a newspaper at Gwaine wiping the bar or polishing glasses, nursing a glass of red wine until Gwaine finished up and joined him.

Merlin grinned, a tiny smile that was gone before it had a chance to settle in. Outside the streets were grimly quiet, all the stores shuttered and closed, everyone waiting for the Germans to arrive.

“Henri does love his Champagne.” Merlin took a glass and wandered over to listen to Percy play their favourite song, _As Time Goes By_. Merlin hummed along. Percy’s hands sauntered over the keyboard and his voice was mournful. 

Tanks rumbled in the distance, or was it a truck? Gwaine’s ears were primed for every unusual sound. Time for more Champagne. Gwaine refilled his glass and joined Merlin at the piano, bumping their shoulders together. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” he said, raising his glass to Merlin. Merlin’s eyes were wet as he clinked their glasses together.

German commands blared from a loudspeaker coming down the street. “Oh god,” Gwaine said. He shared a look with Merlin and they rushed to the window, Percy behind them. 

“Is it the German Army? My German’s a bit rusty,” Gwaine said. “What are they saying?”

“It’s the Gestapo,” Merlin said. “They expect the German Army to be in Paris tomorrow.” Gwaine turned to him and they gripped each other’s arms. “They’re telling us how to act when they come marching in.” 

Gwaine’s thoughts rushed around his head like a dog chasing its tail. France had fallen so quickly; no one expected it. The German invasion had taken only a few weeks and the French government had given up and abandoned Paris to retreat to the south. Gwaine knew he was on the Germans’ radar, but he hadn’t been able to make himself leave, not when Merlin was still here in Paris. He hung on to Merlin’s arms like a lifeline, thinking that all he wanted to do was save Merlin, save himself, go where no one could bother them, where they’d be safe. Now he had to get away. God knew what they’d do to him if they caught him. 

Merlin pulled him into a tight embrace. Gwaine melted into his warmth, clutched Merlin’s back and tucked his head into Merlin’s neck. “We have the worst timing,” Merlin said. “Falling in love when the world’s crumbling around us...”

Timing was definitely a problem for Merlin. Here he was again, in Casablanca, turning Gwaine’s life upside down a second time.

“Can I tell you a story, Gwaine?” Merlin asked, dragging Gwaine back to the present.

“Has it got a grand finish?”

“I don’t know the finish yet.”

“Well, go on. Maybe one will come to you as you tell it.” 

“A young boy grows up in his little village thinking he’s the only one with magic in the entire world. When he’s grown, he goes out into the world and discovers there are others with magic, that it’s not a bad thing, but something wonderful and precious. There are others who are determined to rid the world of magic, to hunt out all magic users, round them up and kill them, or use them for their own purposes. Then the man meets another man, someone he’s heard about for many years, a great and courageous man who fights for the rights of magic users to live free. And this man brings out great powers in the young man, ones he never knew he had. And now he’s not just another magic user, but the most powerful magician in the world. And the only way the courageous man can win the good fight is with the magician’s help. They must fight together or the fight is lost.”

Gwaine stared at him, feeling his stomach fall out. Why did he bother with anything at all? “Very pretty.” He found himself counting how many more bottles of whiskey he had in the storeroom behind the bar and wondering how long it would to get through them. He hung his head and toyed with his glass. “Just go now, why don’t you? Why are you here?”

“I needed to tell you.” Merlin’s voice cracked. “I’m not done explaining what happened.”

Gwaine sneered. “I think I’ve heard enough. I’m so glad everything’s worked out for you, Merlin. Why don’t you go be with your pretty hero now?”

“Don’t be that way.”

“Let me guess, did Pendragon tell you to come here tonight? You do everything he says, don’t you, a proper little servant, at his beck and call morning, noon and night. Does he make you lick his boots before you lick his dick? Bet he doesn’t even let you use your magic.” 

“Fuck you, Gwaine.” Merlin shot up out of the chair;

“Or do you even have your magic any more?” Gwaine yelled after him.

Merlin flung him an anguished look at him and stomped out of the club. 

God damn it all to hell. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to take away the ache in Gwaine’s heart. But he could try.

“Percy, get me another bottle.”

“Good morning to you both.” Leon greeted Arthur and Merlin as they arrived the next morning for their appointment at the Préfecture du Police, a grand edifice that would have fit perfectly in any French town. Leon’s office was quiet compared to the bustling lobby. One entire wall was covered with a map of North Africa. The window shutters were open to let in the breeze and a ceiling fan circled overhead. It was almost pleasant if you could ignore the fact that NatPom had essentially hauled them in front of the police and demanded a justification for their presence. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you, Captain,” Arthur said, as if he were at a cocktail party instead of a police interrogation. 

“How strange. Nobody is supposed to sleep well in Casablanca.”

Merlin certainly hadn’t. Gwaine’s last words to him still burned in his mind, the way he’d flung Merlin’s relationship with Arthur into his face. Gwaine knew Merlin’s magic was a sore point; he’d known exactly what he was saying he questioned it.

“May we proceed to business?” Arthur said, jarring Merlin out of this thoughts. He and Arthur sat down to face Leon and Uther, who was dressed in full military regalia, one leg crossed over the other, leisurely smoking. 

“Why have you called us here?” Merlin asked. “We came as a courtesy, since this is Free French territory, not NatPom-controlled.” 

“Allow me, Captain,” Uther said. “Arthur, you are an escaped prisoner of NatPom. You made it to Casablanca, but I promise you shall never leave.” His visage was stony, lines etched in his face like a piece of marble, with just as much life. “I’ll give you one last chance. Come home with me. You can’t have a command, but you’ll be with your family, upholding the Pendragon tradition. Some day, perhaps, you’ll be willing to help us with your inside knowledge. But I want you with me.”

“You do not control the entire world yet, Father. We’ve been over this countless times. I won’t go with you. My home is somewhere else now.” He glanced at Merlin.

“With the magic users, you mean,” Uther said with a cruel twist of his mouth. “They’re not us, Arthur. They’re an alien race who want to destroy us. I wish you would understand that. This man - ” He glared at Merlin. “ - has corrupted your mind. He’s using you. That’s the only reason you’d submit to this unnatural arrangement.” Uther considered Merlin beneath Arthur in every way and the fact that they were romantically involved made it even worse. 

“Father.” Arthur’s mouth was tight. “Merlin is not using me. We love each other.” Arthur took Merlin’s hand, something he normally wouldn’t do in public. Arthur liked to goad Uther with their relationship, engaging in affectionate gestures he would normally keep private. “Magicians are not evil. Magic can help us, if we let it. The only reason you think magic is evil is because you’ve tried to suppress it. If you let them use their magic freely, good things will come of it. I’m sure of it.”

“He’s brainwashed you, Arthur. You only think you’re in love because he’s enchanted you in some fashion. You’re normal, Arthur. You would never fall into such perversions unless your judgement was twisted by magical influence.”

Arthur’s jaw was working. Merlin could see he was trying to restrain himself. Pendragons never liked to make a scene. “I assure you, our relationship is genuine. Merlin may be the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever known, but he would never use his magic for such purposes.”

“I certainly wouldn’t, Major Pendragon,” Merlin said. “Unless you have something else to say, I think we’d better be going. Otherwise I might have to remind you of the extent of my powers.”

Uther stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice, _Major_ ,” Merlin said. “We aren’t your average refugees.” 

Uther’s face was the colour of raw meat and his eyes bulged like pale blue billiard balls. “No matter what sort of power you think you have, _Merlin_ , the Americans will not allow you to enter without a visa. And the Captain here must sign every visa for travel from Casablanca. Isn’t that right, Captain Leon?”

“That’s right, Major. Every visa.”

“And do you think that Mssrs Pendragon and Emrys will receive such visas?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m so sorry,” Leon answered.

“Well, perhaps we’ll like it in Casablanca,” Merlin said, faux amicably. “The climate is agreeable.”

“Yes, quite.”

“That is all to the good, seeing as you might be here indefinitely,” Uther said with a sneer.

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a look. 

“I’d like to add that you could leave here tomorrow, if you wish,” Uther said, lighting a fresh cigarette and blowing the smoke in their direction. “All you need to do is tell us the names of the resistance leaders in Brussels, Amsterdam, Athens, and Paris.” Uther’s expression was that of a cat who’d just caught a mouse. “If you furnish us with their names and whereabouts, you can be on the plane to Lisbon tomorrow morning.”

“That’s all, eh?” Merlin said with more than a trace of bitterness. Just give up everything they’d worked for for the last few years. Revealing those names would destroy the network.

“And the honour of having served NatPom,” said Leon officiously.

“I was in a NatPom concentration camp for a year,” Arthur gritted out. “I think that’s honour enough.” 

“You won’t give us the names?”

“If I didn’t give them to you before, when you had more persuasive methods at your disposal, what makes you think I’ll give them to you now?”

“And what if we gave you the names?” Merlin said. “Even if you killed them, others would rise up to take their place. Even you can’t kill that quickly.” He didn’t know how much more of this conversation he could tolerate.

“That’s right,” Arthur agreed. “From every corner of Europe, we will rise up. You will not defeat the will of the people. Magic is our soul, the expression of humanity’s connection to the earth, to the very soil we spring from.”

“It cannot be denied,” Merlin said. He squeezed Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s words had teased his magic to the surface where it tingled under his skin. He let it flow from his fingers so Arthur could feel it and Arthur darted an intense look at him and returned the gesture.

Uther’s eyes were thunderclouds. “How can I be proud of a son who goes against everything I taught him? A son who has destroyed my legacy?” He gripped the top of Leon’s desk chair, his entire body stiff. “Indulge in your fantasies. We will eradicate magic and all of its adherents. Some day, Arthur, the scales will fall from your eyes and you will see this man, this Merlin, for what he truly is.”

“I won’t go over this again. We will not reveal the names of resistance leaders. I can’t believe that you even asked that of us. We will obtain visas and leave Casablanca for America, where we will continue the fight,” Arthur said, white-knuckling the armrests of his chair.

“You mean join Morgana. I’m well aware she’s in America. They tolerate her kind there, but I’m sure they will, in turn, discover their mistake, just as I did. Morgana always shows her true colours eventually. She cannot be trusted. I thought you knew that.”

“Father, I’m not going to get into a discussion of Morgana now. I think we’re done here.”

“Arthur, my heart is heavy for how misguided you are. It would be unfortunate if something were to happen to you while you were trying to escape.”

“May I remind you that this is unoccupied French territory,” Arthur said, eyes flashing but maintaining his calm tone. “Any violation of its neutrality would reflect badly on Captain Leon.”

Leon nodded. “This is true, but Major Pendragon is our guest. By the way, I believe you showed an interest in Monsieur Cedric, Mr. Pendragon.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You have a message for him?”

“Nothing important, but may I speak to him now?”

Uther chuckled softly. “That would be a bit one-sided, seeing as he’s dead.”

Merlin held himself still and tried to keep his reaction off his face, but inwardly, his adrenaline swooped. If Cedric was dead, their plans to acquire the letters of transit were demolished. They had to find another way. When they returned to their hotel, he would need to try to find them with magical means.

“I’m writing the report right now,” Leon said. “We haven’t decided whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape,” he added in a deadpan manner. 

“Well, if you’re quite finished with us, we will be on our way,” Arthur said, his tone betraying none of the panic Merlin was sure he must be feeling. He exchanged an anxious look with Merlin before nodding a curt goodbye to Uther and Leon.

The North African sun was a bitch on a hangover, Gwaine thought as he maneuvered through the cramped aisles of the open air market on the way to The Blue Parrot. He pulled the brim of his hat lower. Sometimes he missed the rainy climate of his homeland.

The market filled the narrow street. All sorts of wares were on offer, from fruit to pottery to sweets; the stalls were rickety affairs with cloth canopies to shield everything from the glaring sun. Vendors cried out in Arabic and French to attract customers, who ran the gamut from East Asians to Britons to Russians. If you had something to sell, of legal provenance or otherwise, there wasn’t a better time to set up business in Casablanca.

Gwaine’s conversation with Merlin weighed on his mind, what he could remember of it anyway. Merlin came back to the club, he recalled, as if summoned by Gwaine’s yearning. But then Gwaine had bollocksed it all up. He rubbed the balls of his hands in his eyes as if to chase away the ill effects of the previous night.

At the entrance to The Blue Parrot, Gwaine greeted the eponymous parrot.

“Good morning, Zazu,” he said. “How’s business?”

“Could be better,” Zazu squawked. “Take me with you!”

It was always the same old story with Zazu.

“Good morning, Alined,” Gwaine said after threading his way to the bar inside. 

“Ah, my young Gwaine.” Alined, the proprietor, greeted him with a handshake. He was dressed in his usual costume: fez, white linen suit and colourful striped cummerbund. Fat gold rings adorned his fingers. “What can I do for you this fine day?” 

Alined’s club was less refined than Gwaine’s, but he did a good business. Mid-day, the place was bustling; a table full of Chinese card players here, a knot of Moroccan pipe smokers there, and random men in uniform with girls on their arms reminding everyone there was a world war on. Rumour had it that Alined had a hand in every pot, legal or not. Gwaine didn’t care as long as Alined was on the up and up with him. The man was useful at times.

“I heard the shipment was in. I’ll take mine now,” he told Alined. 

“I’ll send yours along later.”

Gwaine shook his head. “I don’t think so. Every time you do that, it’s a little bit short.” Slimy bastard.

“The price of doing business, my dear boy,” Alined said with a chuckle. “Come, come, sit, there’s something I want to talk to you about. Have a drink.” He pulled out a wicker chair at one of the club’s small tables. “Let’s have some of that bourbon, Trickler.” He waved at his assistant, who was always at his heels. 

A loyal dog, Trickler genuflected and backed away. 

“I’ll get right down to it. The news about Cedric upset me very much,” Alined said.

“Right. You’re a bloody hypocrite. You didn’t care about the man any more than I did.” 

Trickler put a bottle of bourbon on the table. 

“Of course not.” Alined laughed, uncorking the bottle and pouring a glass. “Be that as it may, I wonder where the letters of transit ended up. No one has found them.” He raised an eyebrow. “Have they? Curious indeed.”

“No, no one’s found them that I know of.” They better not have. Gwaine had checked the piano that morning and they were still there.

“If I could lay hands on those letters, I could make a fortune.” Gwaine should have known this was what he wanted.

“So could I. And I’m a poor businessman.”

Alined leaned forward. “I have a proposition for whoever has the letters. I will handle the entire transaction, get rid of the letters, take all the risk, for a small fee.”

“With some carrying charges, no doubt,” Gwaine said.

“Of course, there will be incidental expenses.” Alined sniggered. “That’s the proposition I have for whoever possesses the letters.” 

“I’ll tell the person when they come in,” Gwaine said dryly. The man’s greed was palpable.

“Gwaine, I must tell you the truth. I think you have the letters of transit.” Alined narrowed his eyes.

“You’re in good company. Leon and Uther probably think so too. That’s why I came over here, to give them time to ransack my place.” Through the window, he saw Merlin and Arthur stroll through the market and stop to examine a teapot, their heads leaning together. Gwaine’s stomach tensed. “In fact, I should be going now.” 

“Gwaine, don’t be a fool. Take me into your confidence.” Alined’s words came in a tumble, oddly urgent. “You can’t go it alone.” 

Gwaine didn’t hear him. Merlin had moved on to a fruit stall and Arthur was nowhere in sight. “I’ve got to go, excuse me,” he said.

Gwaine ran into Arthur in the doorway and his chest tightened, remembering what Merlin had said about Arthur the night before. They’d been together before Gwaine even met Merlin, before Merlin came to Paris. Arthur meant so much more to Merlin than Gwaine had realised. Gwaine had been astonished to discover that Merlin’s magical abilities were intimately entwined with Arthur. All this time he’d thought he was the only man linked to Merlin’s magic. 

“Hello, Mr. O’Rourke,” Arthur said.

“Call me Gwaine. Please. Mr. O’Rourke is my da.” He bet Arthur was on the trail of the letters of transit. “And Alined is the older gentleman nursing a bourbon at that table over there.”

Arthur looked after him, surprised, as Gwaine stepped out of the club and headed toward Merlin.

“For you, monsieur, seven hundred francs. A steal,” a cloth vendor said to Merlin as he perused a selection of colourful fabrics, picking up cloths and examining them with a desultory eye. 

“It’s lovely,” Merlin said as he wiped sweat from his face with a red handkerchief. 

The vendor, head wrapped in a turban and wearing a waistcoat, enthused about their quality and value.

“Hello, Merlin,” Gwaine said, coming up behind him. “You’re being cheated, you know.” 

Merlin stiffened and turned away. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“I need to talk to you, Merlin.”

“Oh, the gentleman is a friend of Gwaine’s? For you, a special discount,” the vendor said, bringing out a new sign that said two hundred francs.

“I’m sorry, I was in no condition to receive you last night,” Gwaine said, hoping he could repair the damage he’d done. He wasn’t even sure what he’d said to Merlin, but he remembered that all the feelings he’d kept bottled up over the years had spewed forth, a bitter brew.

Merlin continued to examine the cloths, not looking at Gwaine. His mouth thinned.

Gwaine put a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Merlin, I didn’t let you finish last night. I wasn’t in a fit state to hear everything you had to say. Today I am.”

Merlin turned away and walked to the next stall. 

“Monsieur! I forgot, there’s a special sale on today! Only one hundred francs!” the vendor called after Merlin, desperate.

“I’m not interested, thank you,” Merlin said to the vendor. He turned back to Gwaine and looked him in the eye. 

“Go ahead, tell me.” 

Merlin looked at Gwaine for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think I will.” He directed his attention to the next stall, which was filled with cannisters of tea. He leaned in to smell one of them. “Jasmine, one of my favourites,” he said to the saleswoman. “I’ll take some, please.” The woman poured some in a small paper bag. Merlin paid and she handed it to him. He tucked it in his pocket.

“Why not?” Gwaine said. “I was stuck with a train ticket, I think I’m entitled to know.”

Merlin’s chest heaved with a sigh. “Gwaine, you’re not the same person you were. I can see that now. In Paris, you would never have acted the way you did last night. ” Merlin’s eyes were sad at the edges. “You’ve changed.”

“I’ve changed? What about you? The last I knew, you were in love with me, wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. Then you disappear and I imagine you’ve been taken to a concentration camp or even worse, I don’t know. Now you show up with Arthur bloody Pendragon, the hero of the day, joined at the hip. You tell me some claptrap about your magic being linked to him. I don’t understand, Merlin.”

“Let’s not do this, Gwaine. I think we should just leave things as they were. We have our memories of Paris, let’s leave it at that. The Gwaine I knew in Paris would have understood, if I told him why I didn’t show up, but you, now...I don’t know. We knew very little about each other in Paris. I’d rather leave it that way, remember the good times.” Merlin’s eyes were hard and sad at the same time, a flicker of yearning as he glanced at Gwaine’s face, then away. “I did love you then, you know,” he said.

Gwaine’s gut churned. He hadn’t been sure. It hurt to hear Merlin say it after all this time. “I know. I loved you too.” Still loved him, perhaps. “Did you leave me because you didn’t want to be running away all the time, always hiding from the police?”

“You can believe that if you want to.” Merlin’s blue eyes were inscrutable. Gwaine longed to run his thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbones.

“Well, I’m not running away any more. I’m settled here in Casablanca with the club, I’m not going anywhere. Admittedly I live above a saloon, but....” He threw Merlin a weak smile. “It’s a good business. Walk up a flight. I’ll be expecting you.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed for a moment and darted away. “No.”

There was something there between them still, Gwaine could feel it. “You’ll lie to him one day, Merlin. You know you will.”

“No, I won’t, Gwaine. I’ve always been tied to Arthur, you see. Even before Paris. We’re like two sides of a coin. Our lives are joined. It’s the only way it can be.” 

“I’m not even sure what that means.” 

Merlin looked pained, as if Gwaine’s lack of understanding demonstrated his every flaw. “I can’t really explain it right now. It’s complicated.” He looked toward the door of The Blue Parrot, where Arthur was waving at him to join him. “I have to go, Gwaine.”

Gwaine watched Merlin disappear into The Blue Parrot, his feelings a jumble. Alined wouldn’t be able to help them. Once again, he wondered why Merlin had to show up in Casablanca and stir up Gwaine’s painful memories like coffee grounds from the bottom of a cup. 

Gwaine wandered to an olive vendor, tried a few different kinds but settled on his favourite, marinated in hot red peppers. He was happy in Casablanca; well, at least not unhappy. He made a good living, out of danger and away from main theatre of war; he had plenty of booze and a bevy of beautiful, empty-headed boys to choose from. Merlin’s arrival reminded him of everything his life lacked, everything that had slipped through his fingers. When he paid for the olives, he barely noticed how much they cost, lost in memories of Paris and Merlin.

Like a hurricane, Merlin had swept away Gwaine’s previous life, in which the only constants were whiskey and Percy. The war still raged but the clouds of it were distant and at the eye of the storm they explored the city of love in a bubble of happiness, taking Gwaine’s little car out into the country with the top down, the breeze ruffling their hair, eating picnics under a tree by the roadside. There were boat trips on the Seine, the ancient city sliding by as they leaned over the railing and pressed their shoulders together.

They never spoke of the past. Questions were dangerous. Gwaine had preferred to live in the moment, to savour the pleasures of Merlin and Paris and pretend nothing else existed. It had been easy enough to do.

Gwaine remembered one particular day at his Paris flat. He’d be the first to admit that the place was a dump and at the time he hadn’t really cared. It was cheap and close to his favourite haunts. He didn’t really notice the peeling wallpaper, the lumpy mattress, or the occasional smell from the restaurant bins in the alley below.

Merlin did care. He started bringing flowers from the market every day and it became a tradition.  
He’d had to buy a vase to put them in since Gwaine’s flat had a bed, a dresser and that was about it. Gwaine wasn’t sentimental and he liked to fit all his belongings in a suitcase in case he needed to make a quick getaway. The flowers really did brighten things up.

On that day, Merlin arranged a bouquet of purple iris and white peonies in a green vase and stepped back to assess his handiwork. “What do you think?”

Gwaine circled Merlin’s waist from behind. “You know I always think they’re beautiful.” He nuzzled Merlin’s hair, freshly washed and smelling of lavender. “Like you,” he added.

Merlin wrapped his arms around Gwaine’s, fitting their hands together. “You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“I am, aren’t I?” They swayed in a half-dance for a few moments, Gwaine pressed against Merlin’s back. He softly hummed a popular tune. The late afternoon light filtered through the white sheer curtains and a breeze freshened the air in the flat. “Who are you, really, Merlin? Where did you come from and how did you get here?” 

Merlin stiffened in his arms.“We said ‘no questions.’” He pushed out of Gwaine’s embrace and fussed some more with the flowers.

“I know. I just...” Gwaine sighed. “I want to understand who you really are. We’ve spent all this time together and I...well...”

Merlin’s face shuttered like a shop window closed for the night. He dropped his hands from the flowers with downcast eyes. “I don’t know if I can go there, Gwaine.”

Gwaine took hold of Merlin’s upper arm. “I don’t want to think about the future or the past either. I just want to be here with you. But right now you’re like a shadow. A beautiful, charming shadow, but I need to fill in the gaps, make you into a flesh and blood person. You told me you had magic, but I never see you using it.”

“You know a lot about my flesh already, Gwaine.” Merlin snickered.

“Don’t joke.”

Merlin’s smile fell. “All right.” He walked over to the window and looked out at the light falling behind the rooftops. “My magic is gone. I can’t explain the reasons. It doesn’t matter anyway. But ever since I’ve been in Paris, I can’t get it to work.” He sighed. “Night soon. Want to go to that club?”

Gwaine had some Champagne chilling and had been planning a night in. “Maybe later. Are you sure your magic doesn’t work? I’ve seen your eyes become gold in bed.”

Merlin quickly glanced at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. It happens all the time.” He grabbed Merlin by the hips. “Pretty sexy too.”

Merlin laughed and then he bit his lip. “Maybe it isn’t gone then. Maybe I can get it back.”

Gwaine kissed him. “Let’s break open that Champagne.”

After he poured glasses for each of them, Gwaine made a toast. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Merlin laughed at the sobriquet, but a blush rose on his cheeks. He clinked his glass against Gwaine’s.

“You know just what to say. May we always have Paris.” He cupped Gwaine’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him. At first, the touch of his lips was soft, gentle as the purpling dusk outside, and Gwaine curled his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck, smiled into the kiss. Without breaking contact, Merlin put down his glass, pulled Gwaine closer and pressed against him harder. Gwaine was barely able to put down his own glass before Merlin trapped him tight in a heated embrace.

Later they made love into the early morning hours, high on Champagne and empty stomachs. Gwaine tasted every inch of Merlin and had no need of food. If and when Merlin wanted to tell him anything about his life, he’d be happy to hear it, but he decided not to press him. 

There was just one thing he had to ask though. In the warm flush after lovemaking, Gwaine traced Merlin’s lips with his finger and asked, “Why was I so lucky, Merlin, to have found you? Is there no one else?”

Merlin curled his fingers around Gwaine’s wrist and looked him in the eye. “There was someone. But he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry. We said no questions.” He should have known. Everyone had a dead someone in their lives these days.

“That’s all right. There’s little enough to tell now. He’s gone and it doesn’t matter any more. I’m free to do as I like.”

Not for the first time, Gwaine had the urge to protect Merlin from all the evil in this downtrodden world. “I’m here now.” He kissed Merlin fervently, letting his emotions intensify the kiss. “It’s just us.”

“Yes,” Merlin breathed. “Just us.” Merlin responded by nipping Gwaine’s lower lip, then rolled on top so their hips ground together. “Love you,” Merlin murmured into Gwaine’s mouth when they paused for breath.

“I love you so much. Whatever happens, remember that.” Gwaine’s every cell vibrated with this connection with Merlin. He couldn’t stop touching him, looking into his eyes, ravaging his lips so they were even more bitten and used than before. He wanted to memorise every inch of him in case...in case anything should happen...

 

“Monsieur, monsieur, is your friend with you?” The cloth merchant who’d been haranguing Merlin earlier looked behind Gwaine. “I have a special sale item if he’s interested.” In a fog of reminiscence, Gwaine had come full circle around the market and ended up back where he started. 

“I’m afraid he’s gone.”

In the end, he’d lost everything he had with Merlin in Paris. Like so many others, the war had changed their lives forever. Merlin would never be his again and now he had to face that fact. But every time he was with Merlin in the present, something tugged at his heart, a subtle connection between them that still pulsated with life. Maybe Gwaine responded to his magic somehow, or perhaps it was Merlin’s mere physical presence, but it existed and it was difficult to ignore. Gwaine didn’t want to.

Then there were the letters of transit to consider. Arthur and Merlin were no doubt sniffing them out, if they’d gone to Alined. They might be on to him soon. Then what would he do?

“Alined might be able to help us get visas,” Arthur said to Merlin as they entered The Blue Parrot. “At least one for you.”

Merlin blanched. “What do you mean, at least one for me? What about you?”

“You’ll see.” Arthur led them to Alined’s table, where a Moroccan tea service was laid out.

“Ah. Here’s the man in question now. Monsieur Emrys.” Alined nodded to Merlin. His eyes were bright like a feral cat at night.

“Good afternoon,” Merlin said. Alined poured him a glass of mint tea.

“Tell Merlin what you told me, Msr. Alined,” Arthur said.

“Here’s the situation. It will be very difficult for Mr. Pendragon to leave Casablanca. Anyone who attempts to assist him will be at grave risk. I’m not willing to go that far.”

Merlin started to protest, but Arthur cut him off. “Just listen, Merlin.”

“As I was saying, it may be possible to get a visa for you, Merlin. You are somewhat less infamous that Mr. Pendragon.” 

Merlin turned to Arthur. “Arthur, I can’t - ”

“Merlin, please consider it. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a way to leave later. You will wait for me.”

Merlin frowned, disconcerted by this entire line of thought. He didn’t want to leave without Arthur. It was too dangerous. He could be detained, Uther would find a way to spirit him away to Europe, any number of disasters could occur. And then where would they be? Everything they’d struggled for would be for nought.

“I might as well be frank, Mr. Pendragon,” Alined said. “It will take a miracle to get you out of Casablanca. And NatPom has outlawed miracles.”

Merlin glowered. Arthur’s face mirrored his concern. “We need to talk about this alone,” Arthur said.

“Then I’ll leave you two to discuss it.” Alined retreated to the bar.

Arthur turned to Merlin and took his hand, heedless of appearances. “Merlin. I know you don’t want to do this. But it might be our only chance. Of the two of us, you have the greatest likelihood of accomplishing something. I know it will be difficult without me, but I have every faith you can do it.” Arthur squeezed his hand and gave him that look that made men and women want to follow him into battle. “You can, you know. Just believe.”

Merlin wanted to believe him, but luck hadn’t been with them thus far. “I won’t leave without you, Arthur. It’s impossible. You know it is. And what about my magic? You know what happened the last time we were separated. I lost it and I still don’t have it back entirely.”

“No, I don’t know that it’s impossible.” Arthur’s face took on a hardened aspect. “You will go on without me. I will find a way to meet you. And then things will continue as we planned.” He hesitated. “Merlin, I wonder if Gwaine can help you with you magic. You said he did before, in Paris.”

Merlin searched his face. Leave Arthur here by himself? He didn’t actually believe that would work, did he? Arthur always insisted on doing things on his own. In any case, Merlin wasn’t about to leave him alone in Casablanca. Not with Uther here. As for Gwaine and his magic, well, he wondered about that too. “What would you do, if the situation were reversed? If I had to stay and there were only a visa for one, would you take it?”

Arthur hesitated. “Yes, I would.”

Merlin nodded, with an arched eyebrow, not believing him for a moment. “I see. When I had trouble getting out of Lille, why didn’t you leave me there? And when I was sick in Marseilles, holding you up for two weeks, every minute of which you were in danger for your life, why didn’t you leave me then?”

“I meant to, but something always got in the way.” Their gazes locked and the look in Arthur’s eyes confirmed Merlin’s instinct not to leave without him. He didn’t really want Merlin to. “I love you very much, Merlin,” Arthur said.

“I love you too, Arthur.” His thumb drew circles against the inside of Arthur’s palm, then he turned Arthur’s hand over to caress the small, round scars: cigarette burns. “I can’t leave without you. You know it.”

Arthur snatched his hand away and put it in his lap. “I do.” He met Merlin’s eyes. “I wish it were otherwise. Then I’d know you were safe.”

Merlin opened his mouth, but no words came out. They’d known for a long time that their destinies were intertwined. For Merlin, everything always came back to Arthur. “Alined is waiting for our answer,” he said. He waved Alined back to the table.

“We’ve decided,” Merlin said as Alined sat down. “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep looking for two visas.”

“As you wish, Messieurs. I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you anyway,” Arthur said.

“It’s my pleasure,” Alined replied. “If there is anything else I can do for you, please let me know.” He looked for a moment between them. “I observe that in one respect, you two are very lucky. I have no reason to tell you this, because it benefits me not in the slightest. However, I’m wondering whether you are aware that Msr. Ugarte was in possession of two letters of transit?”

Arthur looked at Merlin before replying. “Yes, we’d heard something about that.”

“And that they were not found on his person when he was arrested?”

“No, we weren’t aware of that,” Arthur said. “Where are they?”

Alined raised an eyebrow. “I suggest asking your friend Mr. O’Rourke.”

Merlin swallowed. “Gwaine?”

“He’s a difficult man. One never knows what he’ll do or why. But I suspect he might know more than he’s letting on about the letters of transit. It’s worth a chance.”

“We’ll take that under advisement. Thank you,” Arthur said. Did Merlin imagine that Arthur’s expression shifted at the mention of Gwaine?

Thoughts whirled in Merlin’s head. If Gwaine had the letters of transit, that changed the entire picture. For better or worse, Merlin wasn’t sure which. 

“We need to find out if Gwaine has the letters of transit,” he said to Arthur. They stepped out of the dark club into the sunshine. Arthur squinted his eyes against the brightness.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s go. There’s no time to waste,” he said.

Gwaine’s was hopping even though it was the afternoon. Merlin supposed with all the waiting around for visas, people needed something to pass the time, and drinking and gambling were prime diversions. In Casablanca, day and night were meaningless distinctions.

Gwaine greeted them at the entrance. “Hello, Mr. Pendragon. Merlin.” He nodded. “Can I get you a table?” Gwaine was utterly professional, his expression betraying none of the emotional baggage he shared with Merlin. He was once again immaculate in his white suit.

“Yes, please,” Arthur said. “And two brandies, when you get a chance.”

Gwaine nodded and led them to a table. “Could we have a table close to Percy?” Merlin asked. At least Percy’s piano playing would be a distraction while they figured out how to approach Gwaine about the letters of transit.

Gwaine hesitated a moment. “Certainly.”

“And as far away from Major Pendragon as possible,” Arthur added. Uther was at the bar surrounded by his cronies, NatPom and German officers, lapdogs sucking up to the leader of the pack. Merlin could feel Uther’s eyes on them from across the room and it made his skin prickle as if his magic could sense its enemy. He mentally ordered his magic to stand down.

Gwaine led them to a table closer to the piano. As they sat down, he said to Merlin, “Does Percy remind you of Paris?” His eyes were dark and hooded.

Warmth rushed to Merlin’s cheeks and he hoped Arthur didn’t notice. “Yes. I have to say, he does. It was an interesting time.” 

“Bit of an understatement.” Gwaine grinned at Merlin and their eyes caught. “I’ll have Percy play _As Time Goes By.’_ I believe that’s your favourite?”

“It is. Thank you,” Merlin said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Well, I’ll send over those brandies,” Gwaine said. Merlin watched Gwaine head toward the bar until the weight of Arthur’s gaze made him avert his eyes.

“I could sure use that brandy,” Merlin said. He tapped his fingers on the table and Arthur’s face clouded.

The affair with Gwaine had been a long time ago, in a different life, one best forgotten. But Merlin couldn’t forget. Seeing Gwaine again brought to life emotions he’d long thought dead. As Arthur had observed, perhaps Gwaine held some key to unlocking Merlin’s full powers again. Gwaine went over and spoke in Percy’s ear and Percy began singing _As Time Goes By_. The tune teased forth Merlin’s Paris memories like flames from a dying ember.

Alone and desperate, it had been a time of wandering in the wilderness. Arthur was gone; his magic was gone, perhaps never to return. He wound up in Paris, looking for something, he didn’t know what. He spent a month floating around the streets, drinking in cafes, picking up strangers to make up for the emptiness inside of him. He never took them home, but dallied in Paris’ shadowy nooks, losing himself in the arms of nameless men. He didn’t feel good about it, but it held back the dark abyss that threatened to engulf him.

When he met Gwaine, all that fell away. Gwaine was light and laughter and everything Merlin had been missing for so long. He made it easy for Merlin to forget Arthur and the struggle for magical rights, forget the loss of his magic and live in the moment. With Gwaine, he didn’t have to be anything other than himself,; he didn’t have to be strong; he didn’t have to the all-powerful sorcerer who was going to help save the magical world, he didn’t have to be a leader. He could just exist and take pleasure in Gwaine’s company. 

The dull thud of Gaius putting their drinks on the table interrupted Merlin’s reverie. Gwaine observed from the bar and he saluted when Merlin looked over.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said. He took his glass and toyed with it. When Gaius was safely away, he said in a low voice, “Do you think Gwaine has the letters of transit?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose we could just...ask him?” He took a healthy slug of the brandy to clear his mind.

“Yes, why not? He can either deny it or tell us he has them, in which case, we’ll make an offer I’m sure he can’t refuse. He’s a businessman, after all.”

“Makes sense.” Merlin paused. “I wish we knew more about what to expect in America. It’s so far away.”

“Merlin. We’ve talked about this. We’ve got to get to America. Our connections are there. Morgana is paving the way even as we speak. She’s gathering resources, lobbying the American government to join the war on our side. It’s not just her, we’ve got American allies arguing our case as well. And here in Casablanca, we’re in limbo. We can’t do much, not with my father here, not with NatPom breathing down our necks at every turn.”

“But it’s much closer to Europe. If the tide turns, we’ll be able to get there much quicker. I might even be able to influence things more directly from here. We can still work with the Americans from here, can’t we?”

Arthur frowned. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Gwaine, does it?”

Merlin’s pulse quickened. “No. It’s been interesting to see him again, but it’s not a consideration.” It wasn’t. Damn it, it wasn’t. Any feelings he had toward Gwaine were surely a leftover from Paris, a byproduct of seeing him unexpectedly after all this time. Merlin looked Arthur in the eye. “He’s a perfectly nice fellow, but that was all a long time ago, another time, another place.” 

Arthur scrutinised him. “All right. I’m glad to hear it,” he finally said. He took a sip of his brandy. “But Merlin...” He cleared his throat. “If you ever have second thoughts about all this, if the burden’s too much, I want you to know that...well....” Arthur’s throat worked.

“What?” Merlin’s chest contracted with the fear that Arthur could discern his doubts. “No. I don’t want that at all. Never. Don’t even think about it.”

“I know this is my cause and you were swept up in it and maybe you didn’t have enough time to really think about whether it was something you wanted with all your heart.”

“Arthur, no. This is my cause as much as yours. More so. I’m the one with magic, after all.”

“I know, but I was the one who started the radical movement. You always advocated working from within.” Arthur’s eyes swept the club before returning to Merlin. “Look at where we are now. On the run, like refugees. Maybe you were right. Uther hates me. If we’d stayed, tried to convince him, maybe things would be different now.”

“Arthur, you can’t second guess yourself. Uther would never have been convinced. I was wrong about that. You were right. He hates magic and all magicians. He’ll never change his mind.”

Arthur sighed. “My father is a hard man. Once he’s made up his mind, that’s that. The one good thing is we’re together. That makes me feel better.”

Merlin gave a little smile. “I feel the same. Have to save you from getting into scrapes.”

“As always.” Arthur squeezed his hand and smiled fondly at him. “Where would I be without you, Merlin?”

“Probably in Uther’s dungeon still, as I recall.”

“Too true.”

Gwaine still watched them from his perch at the bar, smoking a cigarette. When there was a lull in their conversation, he came over.

“How are you fellows doing? Need anything else?” Gwaine’s gaze lighted first on Merlin, then flicked to Arthur. Merlin thought again of the letters of transit and his stomach twisted with anxiety. What did he really know about Gwaine anyway? Why hadn’t he asked Gwaine more about his past when he’d had the chance? 

“As a matter of fact, we’d like to speak to you, Gwaine. In private,” Arthur said.

Merlin exchanged a look with Arthur. There was no time to waste in talking to Gwaine about the letters of transit.

Gwaine’s brow knitted. “Certainly. Come this way.”

He led them up the stairs to his office on the second floor where light streamed in through an open window. “We’ll be alone here. Have a seat.” He gestured to two dark leather armchairs. Everyone sat down and lit a cigarette. Arthur tapped his foot and squirmed in his seat as if he couldn’t find a comfortable position. Merlin looked around Gwaine’s office. It was strange to think of him being so settled, with his own business, part of the community. He owned all of this and ran the club with a practised hand. The furnishings were mostly dark wood, some of them beautiful Moroccan pieces with intricate designs. It didn’t appear that Gwaine used his desk much; it was immaculate.

“How can I help you?” Gwaine asked.

Arthur leaned forward, focusing intently on Gwaine. “I’ll be direct, Gwaine. We need to get out of Casablanca. Both of us.” Arthur looked at Merlin, and Merlin nodded in agreement. “As you must know, we’ve both been very involved in the magical freedom movement. To continue our work, we must get to America. Many lives are at stake.”

“I don’t get involved in politics, Mr. Pendragon,” Gwaine said with a twist to his mouth. “I run a saloon.”

“Gwaine, we know you’ve been involved in the past. You smuggled dragons to Ethiopia; you fought for the Druids in Spain. Word has it the Germans have you on their blacklist. There has to be a reason.” 

“That was then. This is now.” Gwaine took a drag on his cigarette and blew smoke out of the side of his mouth.

“It’s interesting that you’re always fighting on the side of the underdog,” Merlin observed.

“An expensive habit, I don’t recommend it. But then I never claimed to be a businessman.”

“Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate one hundred thousand francs?” 

Merlin clutched the armrests of his chair, leather slippery under his fingers. 

“I appreciate it, but I don’t accept it,” Gwaine replied. 

Damn it, thought Merlin.

Arthur pursed his mouth. “What if I upped it to two hundred thousand?” 

Surely that was enough, even for Gwaine.

“My friend, you could make it a million or three, I still wouldn’t accept it.”

“Why not?” Merlin blurted out. “There must be some reason why you won’t let us have them.”

Gwaine’s eyes pinned Merlin down like a butterfly mounted for display. “You know why, Merlin. Why don’t you tell Arthur?”

Merlin swallowed. Tension coiled through his gut like a snake, tighter and tighter. “Are you serious? It was long ago, Gwaine.”

“It feels like yesterday to me.”

Arthur looked between them with a puzzled expression. “What are you talking about?” 

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief when they were interrupted by a group of men singing from below. In German. “What’s that?” Arthur asked.

Gwaine frowned. “I don’t know. But I plan to find out. If Uther’s men cause a ruckus in my bar, someone will have to pay.”

The three of them walked out of Gwaine’s office onto the balcony that looked out over the club. Uther and his men were gathered by the bar, singing one of their anthems, _From the Victors Shall All Magic Flee,_ with gusto. It was sung at every NatPom gathering and rally and the sound of it sent ice up Merlin’s spine. 

Arthur turned pale and the line of his body stiffened. “This has got to stop,” he said as he marched down the stairs.

“Now just a minute,” Gwaine called. But Merlin knew there was no stopping Arthur when he got an idea in his head. He hurried down the stairs after him.

Arthur strode across the room over to the band. “Play _Le Petit Sorcier_.” Everyone in the room would know what it meant. The musicians looked at each other, unsure, then at Gwaine up on the balcony. “Do it!” Arthur demanded.

Everyone looked up at Gwaine, waiting. Merlin held his breath. Finally, Gwaine nodded to the band to go ahead. They took up the familiar notes and Arthur, Merlin and the band’s singer sang the tune, crying out the inspiring words about a village sorcerer who took on a mighty tyrant and won freedom for his people.

Uther’s men responded by singing more vehemently. Uther squared his shoulders and stood taller, thrusting out his chest, encouraging his men by flinging his arm up and down to the beat like a conductor. He fixed his gaze on Arthur and spat out the lyrics like bullets.

Other patrons joined Arthur and Merlin. Soon, almost everyone in the bar was singing _Le Petit Sorcier_ at the top of their lungs and Merlin’s chest filled with pride as they drowned out the hated NatPom song. Arthur leapt up on a table to sing the final chorus and his eyes gleamed with fervor, his colour high. Merlin’s blood thrummed, his magic buoyed by the energy in the room. Their cause was just and it would triumph in the end. 

“Vive la magie! Vive la sorcellerie!” Arthur cried, his fist in the air. Merlin took up the cry and soon the entire room repeated it, clapping and cheering in wave of joy at this small symbolic victory. Arthur jumped down from the table and people shook his hand and thumped him on the shoulder. Someone thrust a drink into Merlin’s hand, then Arthur’s, and men and women plucked at their sleeves and called their names. Merlin’s grin was wider than the Atlantic Ocean.

Uther and his men looked on in grim silence, arms crossed over their chests and faces ominously still. His face a mask of anger, Uther marched over to Leon, who’d been observing the proceedings with his usual air of scepticism. “This is what I mean, Captain! Arthur is dangerous. We can’t allow him to remain in Casablanca. He’s like a contagion for which there’s no cure. Close down the bar before this gets out of hand.”

“But Major, I have no reason to shut down the bar.”

“You’ll think of something,” Uther said.

Leon blew his whistle and the entire bar went quiet. “This bar is closed immediately! Everyone must leave at once!”

Gwaine jogged down the stairs and over to Leon. Merlin hadn’t noticed him singing; he must have watched the whole time from the balcony. He certainly made a point of his neutrality. “Now just a minute. Singing is allowed, isn’t it? Why are you closing me down?”

“I’m shocked, shocked, to find that gambling is going on here,” Leon answered with aplomb.

“You have got to be kidding,” Gwaine said.

A croupier emerged from the gambling room. “Here are your winnings, Captain,” he said to Leon.

“Thank you,” Leon said without batting an eye. He turned toward Gwaine again. “No, I’m not kidding. Too much gambling is giving our city a bad reputation. It’s out of control. Everybody out, now!” he shouted again. 

A heavy gloved hand landed on Merlin’s shoulder and he turned in a panic to see Uther, who then pulled him out of the crowd to the side. “What do you want?” Merlin said, fearful.

“Merlin, I know you want to keep Arthur safe. After this demonstration, it would be best for him to leave Casablanca.”

“But this morning you said it wasn’t safe for him to leave. Which is it?”

Uther looked at him with narrowed serpent eyes. “The only place that’s safe for him to go to is occupied France,” he ground out. “Under my safe guarantee.”

“What use is that? You may recall that previous NatPom guarantees were worthless.”

“My dear Merlin. There are only two options. After this, I wouldn’t be surprised if the French decided to remove Arthur to a concentration camp here.” Uther’s mouth was a twisted grimace of a grin.

Merlin glared at him and his magic nearly erupted out of his fingertips. It would be such a pleasure to wrap it in tight tendrils around Uther’s neck and watch him choke to death. He could picture it vividly. “And what’s the other alternative?”

“You may have noticed that, here in Casablanca, life is cheap.” Uther looked like he’d enjoy nothing better than spitting in Merlin’s face. “Good night, Mr. Emrys.” With that he turned on his heel and rejoined his compatriots.

Merlin didn’t feel like celebrating any more.

The streets were peaceful as Merlin and Arthur headed back to the hotel. A few other patrons walked with them, gradually peeling off to return to their homes until only Merlin and Arthur were left. Uther and the Germans had fled the bar immediately after Uther’s conversation with Merlin, and Arthur and Merlin had stayed to share a few drinks with their fellow singers and enjoy the camaraderie. It was a rare opportunity to relax.

In the darkened streets, reality sank in again. Uther’s words still rang in Merlin’s ears and he continually looked behind them to see if anyone followed.

“Arthur, we need to be careful,” Merlin said. “Especially you. I think you should lay low here from now on. Uther threatened you.” 

“What else is new, Merlin? My father never changes. I don’t think there’s any more danger here than in France.”

“You take too many chances. You’re not exactly replaceable. There’s only one Arthur Pendragon.”

They entered their hotel and climbed the steps to their floor. “And there’s only one Merlin Emrys.” 

Once they were in their room, Merlin threw his jacket on the bed and crossed to the window. A dark figure leaned against the building across the street. He hadn’t noticed them when they’d come inside. “There’s someone watching us,” he said. “They’re not even trying to hide it.”

“I’m not surprised. I expected as much. I wonder if it’s one of Leon’s boys or Uther’s. ”

Merlin exhaled. “We’re surrounded by enemies here, Arthur.“

“Merlin.” Arthur came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s something I need to tell you. Tonight there’s a resistance meeting. Elyan told me about it and I need to go.”

Merlin sighed. Idiot. Arthur would never take the safer route when there was an opportunity for heroics, particularly of the life-endangering kind. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, watching the man across the street. “Not after what happened tonight at Gwaine’s. Uther mentioned they could put you in a concentration camp here.”

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist and rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. “I don’t care what Uther says, darling. You know that. I’m not afraid of him. Not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. What can he do to me that he hasn’t already?”

Merlin leaned back on Arthur’s solid and comforting physical presence. Arthur’s favourite activity was jumping into the fray, no holds barred. Cautious, he wasn’t. “I don’t know, but he’s quite ingenious in the evil department. He’d probably come up with something.”

“We can’t let our fears take over. No matter what happens, we must stay strong. People depend on us,” Arthur said. His arms tightened in their embrace and his voice rumbled into Merlin’s back like a soft comfy blanket. Merlin looked out over the desert-coloured buildings and curlicue minarets of Casablanca, the stranger keeping an eye on them from across the street. 

Merlin held his hand out toward the window and said an incantation. The curtain didn’t move. He gave up and physically pulled the curtain shut, then slumped back into Arthur. “You’re right, of course, Arthur. But I don’t want you to take chances. There’s a fine line between recklessness and bravery. Don’t cross it.” Merlin turned in Arthur’s arms to look him in the eye. 

“I know what you’re saying, Merlin, you’ve said it before. But it’s important that I make an appearance at this meeting. These people know we’re in Casablanca. If I don’t show up, especially after tonight, they might think the worst, think that something’s happened to me. We need to keep up their hopes and give them the courage to fight on. If I don’t show up, it will look like Uther’s intimidated us.”

Merlin bit his lip as he pondered. “I still don’t like it. It’s an unnecessary risk. Isn’t it more important that you stay safe and get to America?”

Arthur’s lips thinned. “I have to disagree. I’m here now. These people need me.”

Merlin had to share Arthur with the world, with the movement they’d helped build, but he also had obligation to protect him. A less generous part of Merlin thought that Arthur liked people treating him like a celebrity and fawning over him. He was genuinely a hero, but he was also human, and everyone likes to have their ego stroked once in awhile. “I’d like to come with you. You might need me.”

Arthur stroked Merlin’s arm. “You’re safer here. If anything happens, it would be better that one of us is free.”

“Don’t shut me out. Please. You need me.” Arthur always kept a part of himself separate from Merlin. Now he took Merlin’s advice seriously, but it had taken years to get to that point.

“It’s just a meeting. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Arthur, you’re being - ”

Arthur interrupted him with an upheld palm. “No. You’re staying here. Until we get to America, I need to keep you in the background. You might be tempted to use magic and I think that would attract attention, for one thing. For another...well...I just want to keep you safe.”

Merlin gave up in the face of Arthur’s protests, even though he could take care of himself and Arthur as well. Arthur refused to believe that. Merlin didn’t think he had any idea how many times Merlin had saved his arse with the discreet use of magic, even though it wasn’t always reliable these days. “All right, all right, have it your way. But I don’t like it.” 

On the other hand, perhaps it was better to have Arthur out of the way. Merlin had an idea for obtaining the letters of transit and he had to do it alone. If Arthur went by himself to the meeting, that would give Merlin the opportunity to pursue this avenue by himself.

“Before I go, I want to ask you something.” Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Gwaine said you would know why he wouldn’t sell us the letters of transit.” 

Merlin looked Arthur in the eye but he couldn’t make any words come out. The silence stretched. 

“Merlin, were you lonely in Paris, when I was in the concentration camp?” Arthur’s thumb stroked Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes, I was, Arthur. I...”

Arthur buried his fingers in the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. “I know how it is to be lonely. When Gwen left me for Lance, I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to go on.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Arthur about what happened with Gwaine, he truly did. But something inside him also wanted to keep that time in Paris for himself, like a treasure box he could open at any time and gaze at the jewels within. If he told Arthur, it would be ruined. It wouldn’t be his any more. “No, Arthur, there isn’t,” Merlin said very softly. He wasn’t lying. There wasn’t anything he wanted to tell Arthur. The secret lay heavy in his chest, but it would remain there for the time being. “Shouldn’t you get going to the meeting?” 

Breath rushed out Arthur’s nose. Merlin couldn’t tell what he was thinking; his eyes were downcast. “Yes, of course.” Arthur started toward the door, picked up his jacket and hat, then turned back toward Merlin. He raised the hand as if he were going to touch Merlin, then dropped it. “Merlin, I just want you to know that I love you with all my heart.”

Merlin’s throat thickened and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “I know, Arthur. I love you too.” He rushed to close the gap between them and gathered Arthur into his arms. “I love you so much. You’ll never know.” Merlin clenched his eyes shut, overcome with emotion and afraid to show the wrong thing in this fragile moment. “Whatever I do, I hope you’ll believe - ”

Arthur cut him off, his voice low in Merlin’s ear. “Shush. I believe you. Always, darling. You don’t have to say it.”

Relief swept through Merlin and shame prickled along with it. He kissed Arthur on the lips, deep and searching, full of a need to affirm their partnership. So much of him belonged to Arthur. Yet he couldn’t quite give him everything for fear of losing himself entirely. He would keep this to himself for at least a little while longer. If they got out of Casablanca, Arthur would forget all about Gwaine, with any luck, and it would never be an issue again.

As soon as Arthur left, Merlin nodded to himself, the idea he’d been mulling all evening solidifying in his head. Gwaine _would_ sell him the papers. Whatever Gwaine wanted in return, he would get.

“How did you get in here?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin stood at the window of Gwaine’s flat, looking out. The streetlights cast stripes across his face and body. 

“The stairway from the street,” Merlin said, turning towards him. 

Gwaine turned on the light. Merlin had two feverish spots of pink on his pale cheeks. His eyes flared gold at the edges of blue. 

“Why are you here? I bet I can guess,” he said, longing kindling in his chest.

Merlin’s jaw set, then relaxed as he approached Gwaine. “I had to see you, Gwaine.”

“I told you to come up to mine, but I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I wanted to spend some time alone with you, Gwaine. Without Arthur.”

“Where is he now?”

“At a resistance meeting. He wouldn’t let me go.”

“Wouldn’t let you go, eh?” Gwaine snorted. “All right.” Gwaine eyed Merlin. “Sit down, why don’t you? I’ll get us a drink.”

Merlin sat on the maroon sofa, his foot tapping. Gwaine busied himself pouring generous glasses of whisky. It looked like he was going to need it. He brought one over to Merlin and sat down with him. “It’s about the letters of transit, isn’t it? It seems as long as I have those letters, I’ll never be lonely.”

Merlin exhaled loudly and his gaze darted around the room. He turned to Gwaine and let his knee rest against Gwaine’s. Gwaine slowly moved his leg away. He wanted to keep his wits. 

“All right, I’ll be honest. It is about the letters of transit.” Merlin grasped Gwaine’s hand and Gwaine’s treasonous body warmed. “Arthur and I have got to get out of Casablanca. Uther has threatened him and I’m afraid Arthur won’t get out of here alive if we don’t leave soon.”

“So? Why should I care?” 

“I know how you feel about me, Gwaine, but we loved each other once. If you care for me at all, please give us the letters. We’ll pay whatever you ask.” 

Gwaine’s chest squeezed tight against Merlin’s words. He searched Merlin’s face. Did he feel anything at all for Gwaine or did he only care about the letters? His mind was in a turmoil, contrasting the Merlin he knew in Paris with the one in front of him in Casablanca. 

“Please put aside your feelings for something more important. There’s a lot at stake here.” His fingers pressed against Gwaine’s with a steely grip.

“Are you going to tell me again about what a hero your partner is? What a great cause he’s fighting for?” Gwaine inwardly winced at his tone, but it had slipped out with even thinking.

“It’s my cause as well. Don’t forget that. It’s the freedom of all magical people everywhere that we fight for, Gwaine. In your own way, you fought for it too. Remember, I know about the Druids.”

“I don’t fight for anyone these days. My only cause is myself.” He wasn’t going to let Merlin make him soft. Once upon a time, he’d put himself forward to fight for others, but those days were over. That way lay madness and he wasn’t going to walk that path again. 

Merlin studied him. “Are you sure? I don’t think that’s really the way you are.” Merlin’s thumb caressed Gwaine’s hand, back and forth, back and forth, and something inside Gwaine  
melted.

Still he fought back. “I’m not the same person I was in Paris, Merlin. Neither are you.”

Merlin breathed harder. “Gwaine, please listen to me. if you only knew what really happened, if you knew the truth...” His nails dug into Gwaine’s hand.

“You’re hurting me, Merlin.” Gwaine snatched his hand away. “I wouldn’t believe you no matter what you said. You’d say anything now to get those letters.” 

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Merlin looked down into his lap, then he leapt up and strode to the window, staring into the darkness. 

Gwaine followed him, even though Merlin’s nearness made his blood sing. Merlin’s dark head was bowed and he rubbed his forehead. His shoulders looked thin, the blades outlined clearly by his grey jacket. The memories crowded into Gwaine’s mind: the rain pelting down on him as he waited for Merlin at the train station, Percy watching him, the humiliation and sadness. He wouldn’t give in, even though he could practically smell the desperation rolling off Merlin in waves.

They were silent for a moment before Merlin turned, furious. “All you think of is yourself, Gwaine, how one person hurt you long ago, and you want to take revenge on the rest of the world. Don’t you understand, this is a fight for the future, for the future of magic users, yes, but really for all of us. Do you want to live in a world filled with suspicion and fear? Do you want to be on the side of light or the side of darkness? You can’t stay on the sidelines forever. Not when people’s lives are at stake.” Merlin’s eyes glinted gold and the air quivered. 

A crackle ripped through the silence and the light in the flat shimmered. Gwaine jumped as if Merlin had slapped him.

“Arthur’s life, you mean,” Gwaine snapped without thinking.

Merlin’s body was stiff and his features were drenched with colour, his eyes a more intense blue, his lips and cheeks flushed deep red. “Arthur’s, yes, but also that of thousands of magicians and sorcerers across the globe, their wives and husbands, children and even friends. Uther has tainted all of us and everyone who associates with us. Even you, Gwaine, could be at risk for consorting with a known magic user.”

“I know all of this, Merlin. It doesn’t make any difference.” Gwaine ground out the words and his chest heaved. Merlin’s eyes pulled him in with their ferocity and waves of magic vibrated in the air around him. Gwaine could feel in his gut the atmosphere change like the coming of a thunderstorm in summer. His muscles twitched; his cock thickened.

“Gwaine, I’m begging you. Give us the letters of transit, or we could die here.”

He was hanging on to his resistance by a thread. “What of it? I’m going to die here. It’s a good spot for it.” 

Merlin flung out his arm toward Gwaine, his hand up and his fingers spread. It shook. “All right. I’ve tried reasoning with you. I want those letters, Gwaine. Get them for me.” His eyes turned completely gold and from his mouth sprang words of an ancient tongue in a deep, commanding tone. It paralysed Gwaine, raised goosebumps on his skin, as if an ancient god had taken over his little flat in dusty old Casablanca. Merlin’s power filled the room with a white light.

Tired of fighting, Gwaine stared at the bizarre glow. “Go ahead.” Gwaine held up his hands. “Put me out of my misery.” Merlin’s magic twined around him and Gwaine welcomed its seductive lassitude. His vision flickered and dimmed at the edges and he floated even though his feet were still on the ground. 

Gwaine’s body throbbed with pain and darkness had nearly enveloped him when Merlin collapsed. “I can’t do it to you, Gwaine. Don’t make me.” He fell to the floor in a crouch, covering his head with his arms and shaking.

Half-blind and woozy, Gwaine stumbled over to him “Merlin, are you all right?” Unsure if it would hurt him, Gwaine touched his shoulder.

Merlin unwrapped his arms and looked up, his face pallid and sheened with sweat. “I’ve thought about you so much since then, Gwaine. I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were gone from my life.” His eyes were wet.

“What?” Gwaine crouched down to join him on the floor.

“The day you left Paris, if you knew what I went through. How much I loved you.” 

Shocked, Gwaine clasped Merlin in his arms. “What are you saying?”

“I still love you.” Merlin whispered the words, barely audible. “I can’t pretend any more.”

Gwaine’s heart stopped beating. Or maybe it beat too fast. All he knew was he needed to kiss Merlin, right the hell now, because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Merlin shivered and Gwaine enveloped him in his arms, rubbing him to warm him up. He’d resisted Merlin’s pleas so fervently because he knew if he gave in, he’d be lost. 

So, lost he was.

He kissed Merlin. “I love you too, Merlin. I loved you in Paris and I still love you. You terrify me and I don’t know what to do with you, but I love you.” Speaking the words out loud, whatever came of them, was like reading the last chapter of a long-lost book. They’d lived unspoken in his heart for so long. 

Merlin kissed him back with ardor. They clung to each other and gave in to a tide of passion that drowned out everything outside Gwaine’s room just as it had in Paris. Gwaine’s ears buzzed, aware of nothing but the stroking of Merlin’s tongue against his own, the thumping of Merlin’s heart against his chest, his hand curled in Merlin’s thick hair.

“Don’t leave, Merlin, don’t leave,” he murmured between kisses. “Stay here with me.”

“Ssshhh, don’t say it,” Merlin said. “Just kiss me, Gwaine. Take me to bed, like in Paris. Fuck me until I can’t think.”

Gwaine lifted him up with his hands under his elbows and kissed him until their lips were raw. Then he pushed him backward onto the bed. “Gladly.”

He ripped off Merlin’s tie and shirt, then tore off his own clothing, leaving it in a rumpled pile somewhere, then climbed up Merlin’s half-naked body, eyes steadily on Merlin’s. Heat kindled between them as he peeled off Merlin’s trousers and pants, every brush of his fingers against Merlin’s bare skin shooting sparks through his body. His mouth fell open at the sight of Merlin’s bulging cock and pale legs fuzzed with dark hair. Memories of Merlin’s body, his unique shape and feel and smell, had fueled innumerable wanking sessions over the years but Gwaine had never expected to experience him in the flesh again. 

He took in a long breath. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He pressed one hand to Merlin’s chest and stroked downward, mapping the hills and valleys of his body. When he got to Merlin’s cock, he sank down on top of him, skin sliding against skin, and the heat burst to flame; nails scratched flesh, teeth bit and scraped, mouths devoured and tongues licked. It was neither careful nor caring, just desperately needy and aching, punishing and quick. 

It was over all too soon. Gwaine’s orgasm shook him to the core. It had been a long time since he’d had anything other than meaningless sex that served nothing other than to pass the time and satisfy a physical craving. Sex with Merlin was like taking a bite of the juiciest peach after a long sea voyage, full of colour and intensity and quenching a thirst he’d forgotten he even had. His dazed mind scrambled to catch up. Here was Merlin right beside him, in Gwaine’s narrow bed, pulling strands of Gwaine’s hair through his fingers and looking at him with stunned eyes.

“Where would we be if you’d shown up at the train station? Would we have found that idyllic little cottage we talked about?” Gwaine said as he slid a hand up Merlin’s side and gazed into his eyes.

Merlin sighed and looked away. “Don’t...” 

That last day in Paris...Gwaine remembered it so vividly...he should have found out more about Merlin then. Maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation now.

“Where were you ten years ago?” he’d asked Merlin when the first German announcements trumpeted on the street outside La Belle Aurore. He wished they’d met each other earlier, in another time and place, where they could have gotten to know each other in a normal fashion, not pressed in on all sides by circumstance.

“Having braces put on my teeth, I think. What about you?”

“Looking for a job, probably.” Gwaine smiled at the thought. Those were simpler times. He drew a finger across Merlin’s lips. “You with braces. I bet you were cute.”

“I was. A bit gawky though. My mum still teases me about it.” 

Gwaine pulled him close and kissed him. He wanted so much to grow older with Merlin, to see grey touch his sideburns and wisdom grow in his eyes.

Percy interrupted. “There’s a price on your head, Gwaine. The Germans will come looking for you once they get here.”

“I left a note in my flat. They’ll know where to find me.” Gwaine drank some more. A strange heedlessness overtook him. If it was the end of the world, may as well make the best of it. “We’ve got three more bottles to get through, mates. Drink up.”

Percy poured a glass. “To close escapes,” he toasted. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Gwaine murmured.

Percy guzzled the rest of his wine. “Think I’ll go get my things together. I have a feeling we’ll need to be ready for a quick getaway.” With a tip of his hat, he left Gwaine and Merlin to themselves. 

Gwaine sighed and poured himself another glass. When he looked up, Merlin’s eyes were on him. “Strange,” Merlin said. “I know so little about you.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“You know you have to leave Paris,” Merlin said, meeting Gwaine’s eyes.

“We’ll leave together,” Gwaine said, gathering Merlin in with an arm around his shoulders. “I checked the train schedule. The train for Marseille leaves at five o’clock. I’ll pick you up at your hotel at four thirty.”

Merlin looked uncomfortable and said quickly, “No, not at my hotel. I have some other things to do first. I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Things to do?” His stomach twisted. “All right. At the station at four forty-five.”

Merlin gave him a faint smile. 

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” Gwaine said.

“Of course.”

Gwaine kissed Merlin’s temple. “We’ll find a small cottage somewhere by the ocean. You’ll get flowers every day at the market, or better yet, plant your own in the garden.”

They both gazed out the window at the eerie, empty street. “Yes,” Merlin said. “That sounds nice.” 

“I’m so relieved you got your magic back. Now it’s hard for me to imagine you without it.”

“Thanks to you, Gwaine.”

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know the first thing about magic.”

Merlin stroked Gwaine’s chin. “You didn’t need to. Just being with you did it, feeling...well...loved. Appreciated.” He kissed Gwaine gently on the lips and Gwaine parted his mouth to let Merlin in. He tasted of Champagne and cigarettes.

They heard another announcement outside, but it was garbled and they couldn’t make out the words.

Merlin slumped down. “This is crazy. We don’t know what’s going to happen. It can all change in a moment. If you can’t get away, I mean, if something should keep us apart, I want you to know, wherever they put you and wherever I’ll be...” His breath caught and he broke off, burying his head in Gwaine’s shoulder. 

Gwaine lifted Merlin’s chin to see his face. On his lips were comforting words that he didn’t really believe when Merlin said, his voice full of emotion, “Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.” 

Gwaine looked into his eyes for a moment, sensing they were balanced on the knife edge between one world and the next, walking a line between two planes of existence the nature of which he couldn’t yet divine. Everything he’d ever wanted was in Merlin’s eyes, deep and blue like a mountain lake, full of humour and intelligence, dappled with those golden flecks of magic. He had everything right here in his arms and he was terrified that he was going to lose it forever. 

He kissed Merlin then, their lips meeting with a rush of feeling. Gwaine closed his eyes and willed away the fateful hush outside. He lost himself in the press of Merlin’s mouth against his, tried to imprint the feeling so he never forgot it.

“I can’t let you go, Merlin,” he said, clutching at Merlin’s jacket. “Promise me you’ll come to the train station.”

Merlin bit his lip. “I’ll be there. I’ve just got to do a few things first.”

Gwaine loosened his grip and sighed. There wasn’t anything else he could do. “All right.”

In a flurry of activity, Gwaine threw his scant belongings into a suitcase, took one last look at his flat before leaving and, not for the first time nor probably the last, closed the door on one life to begin another with Merlin.

He hurried toward the train station and it started to rain. Within moments, he was soaked. He tried to get on a bus, but there wasn’t any room. The Metro was impossible and of course there were no taxis. Finally he gave up and walked, occasionally breaking into a run when panic got the better of him.

The train station was thick with hysteria, the floor slick and muddy. Everyone wanted to escape the Germans. Gwaine shoved his way through the crowds, consulted the schedule on the board and found the right track. He put down his suitcase and glanced at his watch. It was four forty-five; Merlin should have been here by now. He scanned the crowd and his heart stopped every time a tall, slender young man with dark hair appeared. Merlin was nowhere to be seen. He said he would come and he would, Gwaine told himself. He just had to do a few things, and then he would be here.

“All aboard! Train leaving in five minutes!” the conductor called out.

Barbed wire wrapped around his heart, Gwaine checked his watch again. 

A tall form loped down the platform towards Gwaine. “Percy. Am I glad to see you. Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine hated the desperate sound of his voice. 

“I haven’t seen him. He checked out of his hotel though.” Percy dropped his suitcase next to Gwaine’s and with sad eyes, handed him an envelope. “This came for you after you left.”

Gwaine tore it open, stomach fluttering.

_Gwaine,_

_I can’t go with you or ever see you again. You must not ask why. Just believe that I love you. Go, my darling, and may God bless you._

_Merlin_

Gwaine’s vision drained of colour, everything turning grey and featureless. People’s mouths were moving but there was no sound, like he was trapped in a silent movie.

“You all right, boss?”

“He’s not coming.” The words were meaningless, like someone else was saying them. In a moment, everything had changed. He no longer even cared whether he got on the train. What was the point? What difference did it make if he were on free soil or in a German prison?

“I was afraid of that.” Percy put a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and squeezed.

The whistle blew and the conductor made the last call for passengers.

“We’ve got to go now, Gwaine.” Percy picked up their suitcases and took Gwaine’s arm. When Gwaine didn’t move, Percy pulled him along. “Come on.” They climbed the steps to the car. Before stepping inside, Gwaine crumpled Merlin’s letter and threw it on the tracks. He left his heart down there with it.

If he were honest, Gwaine hadn’t been himself since that day. He’d escaped Paris, bounced around France, made his way through Spain and from there to Casablanca. Building a new life was an effective distraction from his heartache and eventually he’d buried it so he only thought about it when Percy played their song.

“Arthur was called back to England,” Merlin said, calling Gwaine back to the present: Casablanca, not Paris; his own nightclub, not a fleabag rented flat. “They were waiting for him. There was only a two sentence notice in the paper in France. ‘Arthur Pendragon detained. Sent to a concentration camp.’ I was frantic. I tried everything to get word, worked all my contacts, magical and not. Uther has Great Britain surrounded by a perfect barrier, nothing can get in or out. Not even the most powerful magic can break it. Finally, someone got out and got word to me that Arthur had been killed trying to escape. I was devastated but I had to go on. I was terribly lonely and afraid. I wasn’t sure what to do without Arthur. Then I met you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Arthur thought it best that our relationship be known only to a small number of people, our inner circle. For my own protection. Because, you see, he’s the reason my magic is so powerful. Without him, I wouldn’t be able to do half of what I can when I’m with him. So in Paris, I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid I’d lost all my magic. And for a while it seemed that I really had.”

“I remember. When did you first find out he was alive?”

“Right before I was to leave Paris with you. A friend came and told me they were hiding Arthur in a freight car outside Paris. He was sick and he needed me. I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t leave Paris and the Gestapo would get you. You couldn’t know.”

Gwaine cradled Merlin’s head against his chest. “Oh, Merlin. Maybe I could have helped you if I’d known.”

Merlin raised his head and rested his chin on Gwaine’s chest. “You did. You don’t know how much you did. It was because of you that I got my magic back. You gave me hope again, made me feel alive when I thought I was dead. All you had to do was love me. That was the key.”

“I want you to stay here with me. You’ll be safer here. Sit out the war and do what you can from afar. It’s too dangerous for you with Arthur.”

Merlin grasped his hand. “You’re as bad as Arthur. It is hard sometimes, all the pressure and the running. It’s tempting.”

“Please consider it. Or we can go away together, go to America, find a little town on the prairie and forget about everything else. Maybe become cowboys.” He chuckled, then his smile fell and his eyes grew intent. “Just be with me, Merlin. You wanted it once.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Merlin murmured into Gwaine’s chest. He sounded sleepy, but he was awake enough to lift his head and look Gwaine in the eye. “You’ll help Arthur now, won’t you, Gwaine? You must. Help him get out, continue his work.”

Gwaine drew his hand through Merlin’s hair, his mind a welter of mixed-up emotions, a patchwork quilt of mismatched patterns and colours. “Yes, of course,” he said to mollify Merlin. “Just rest now.”

Merlin’s eyes fell closed and he whispered, “I just wish I didn’t love you so much. Or Arthur.”

Gwaine sighed and silently raged at the universe.

Leaving Gwaine sleeping peacefully, Merlin slipped out of the flat before dawn to sneak back into the hotel room. Gwaine was a good man at heart and he hadn’t deserved what Merlin had put him through in Paris. But Merlin had had no choice, he’d needed to go to Arthur, whose location had to be kept a secret. When he quickly gathered his belongings and run through the deserted city, he thought only of reuniting with Arthur. It was only later that he’d remembered Gwaine was waiting for him at the train station. But there was nothing to be done about it. From then on, it had been a whirlwind of safe havens and close escapes, constantly on the run across Europe until they’d had to leave the continent altogether for Casablanca.

The night with Gwaine made him rethink his priorities. He’d gotten sidetracked from his mission to obtain the letters of transit, but his sense of himself had been renewed by Gwaine’s attentions. Being with Gwaine made him remember how wonderful their time in Paris had been and the feelings that had led to the reawakening of his magic. Maybe it was time to put his own needs first before he forgot who and what he was.

Sometimes he wanted to give up and run away from it all, live his own life, settle in to some quaint little cottage and putter about, growing flowers and painting and not worrying about the bigger world. Gwaine almost made him think it was possible. It would be such a relief.

On his way back to the hotel, he kept close to the walls, skulking in the shadows to escape detection. As he crept along, shuffling and whispers made him constantly look behind him, but it was too dark to ascertain whether someone followed him. He hoped he remembered how to get back to the hotel among the tangle of narrow alleys. After a couple of wrong turns, he was relieved to see the hotel when he peaked around a corner. Sneaking to the back, he stole up the back staircase and slipped inside.

All he wanted to do was sink into bed next to Arthur and go back to sleep. Maybe he’d be able to make more sense of his confused feelings in daylight. People always say things look different in the morning. He hoped so.

As he slunk along the corridor, loud voices clamoured from behind the door to their room: Arthur’s and a couple of others he didn’t recognise, speaking French. Terrified, his blood pounded in his ears and he hesitated, unsure what to do. If he rushed in, no doubt he’d be arrested too. Was there something he could do with his magic that wouldn’t cause a bigger problem?

Within moments, two gendarmes burst out of their room, Arthur in handcuffs between them with his chin in the air and mouth pressed tight. “What’s the charge?” he demanded.

“Captain Renault will let you know. For now, you’re coming with us,” one of the gendarmes said as they manhandled him down the hallway, his arms tightly gripped between them.

“Arthur!” Merlin cried. He needed to do something, but what?

“Merlin!” Arthur turned to look at him, and Merlin’s magic swirled to the surface, struggling for release. He tried to channel it in time to undo Arthur’s handcuffs, focusing on the metal clasp, the tiny keyhole. But it fizzled and snapped away from his control. If he could just get the gendarmes out of the way somehow, a blow of magic could free Arthur’s arms perhaps...

Before he could focus his energy in the proper direction, the gendarmes had rushed Arthur down the stairs, with Arthur yelling, “Get Gwaine’s help!”

For the second time that night, Merlin rushed through Casablanca’s labyrinth of streets to Gwaine’s flat, panting all the way and worried about Arthur in the hands of the police. The neon sign that said ‘Gwaine’s’ was off now and the brightest light was the airport searchlight, blinking across the roofs and dipping to the streets below. Merlin slipped up the backstairs and knocked softly on Gwaine’s door. “Gwaine! Gwaine!”

“Merlin?” Gwaine finally said from behind the door.

“Yes, it’s me, open up. Hurry!” It took him long enough.

Gwaine opened the door and Merlin charged in, words tumbling out. “They’ve got Arthur. When I got back to the hotel, they were taking him away.” 

“Who?” Gwaine closed the door and stood there in a sleeveless vest and boxers, his face creased with sleep.

“The gendarmes, Leon’s men. They arrested him. Wouldn’t say what the charge was.”

Gwaine rubbed his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised after what happened at the club tonight. He threw down a challenge to Uther with that _Le Petit Sorcier_ stunt.”

“He did threaten us. Well, Arthur in particular. After the singing, he took me aside and basically told me Arthur needed to leave or else.”

“But you say they haven’t charged him with anything?” Gwaine asked.

“It didn’t sound like it.”

“All right, well, that’s good.” Gwaine retrieved a cigarette from a pack on a side table and lit it, silent for a moment. “Maybe there’s a chance to get him out.” He blew out smoke and paced a few steps.

“Please. If there’s anything you can do, I’d be so grateful.” 

“I think there might be. Let me think about it for a bit. We can’t do anything until the morning anyway, yeah?” He lit another cigarette from the one he was smoking and handed it to Merlin.

Merlin took an appreciative drag. “No, I suppose not.” He hated waiting that long, but there was nothing for it, since Leon wouldn’t be in his office in the middle of the night. Merlin could use the time to come up with a magical solution.

Cigarette stuck in his mouth, Gwaine pulled open a desk drawer from which he removed a heavy, black handgun and laid it down on the night table beside the bed.

“What’s that for?” Merlin said, alarmed.

“Be on the safe side. Things are getting hairy around here.”

Merlin took a shaky breath and sank onto the sofa. To help Arthur, he needed to regain his composure and think with a clear head. With everything that had happened tonight, he was a mess now Arthur was arrested. He’d gone from one emotional extreme to the other and back, everything in his life tossed up in the air and it hadn’t landed yet. 

Gwaine sat down next to him, pressing their shoulders together. “Tell you what. You can’t go back to your hotel room, not tonight, so just catch a few hours of shuteye here and try to forget about everything until the morning.” He rubbed Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin leaned into the touch.

“I can’t sleep, Gwaine. Not when Arthur sits in jail. You don’t know what they did to him in that concentration camp.”

“I’ve heard stories. But Leon has him, not Uther. He’s in Uther’s pocket, but he’s basically a good man. He won’t do anything like that.”

Merlin rested his head on Gwaine’s shoulder and Gwaine curled an arm around him.

“I hope you’re right,” Merlin said. “I made a vow to myself that I’d protect Arthur. My magic may be faulty but I’ve got to do everything I can to help him.”

“Come on, you need to rest up.” Gwaine stood and held his hand out. 

During the night, Merlin stared up at the ceiling while Gwaine slept fitfully beside him. He thought a lot about his magic and Arthur and Gwaine, and everything that had happened between them, how he’d lost his magic when he’d thought Arthur had died and how Gwaine helped him regain it. Even now, Arthur retained some scepticism about his magic and seemed unable to trust Merlin with using his full powers. He wondered if this was contributing to his magical difficulties.

But Gwaine didn’t doubt him. He could never forget that Gwaine had helped him get his magic back. Even Arthur had wondered if Gwaine could help him improve his magic now. Maybe there was something to that.

By the time dawn broke, he’d come up with a plan. It was risky but it just might work. If successful, it would show Arthur once and for all that Merlin truly was the world’s most powerful sorcerer and save them all in the process.

When Gwaine woke up, bleary-eyed from a poor night’s sleep, Merlin shared his ideas and, after some pointed questioning, Gwaine was amenable. They threw together some coffee and a bit of breakfast before Gwaine headed over to the police station to talk to Leon. They agreed it would be better for Gwaine to meet with the captain alone, given their past friendship. Merlin kissed Gwaine briefly at the door and bade him good luck.

Gwaine scrutinised Leon from across the captain’s desk in the Préfecture du Police. Arthur sat in a cell somewhere in the same building. Merlin had asked him to help Arthur and, possibly against his better judgment, he was about to try to do just that. The hard lump of the gun inside his jacket boosted his confidence. What Merlin didn’t know was that Gwaine had his own plans. “You’ve got nothing to hold him on, Leon. You don’t have any proof. This isn’t Germany or Britain. And you’re not Uther. All you can do is fine him and give him thirty days. You may as well let him go now.”

Leon scowled at him. “Gwaine, I’d advise you not to get involved in Mr. Pendragon’s problems. If by any chance you were to help him escape...”

“What makes you think I’d stick my neck out for Pendragon?”

“Because one, you bet ten thousand francs he’d escape. Two, you have the letters of transit.”

Gwaine stirred in his seat, about to protest.

“Now, don’t bother to deny it.” Leon continued. “Three, you don’t like the looks of Uther and as a matter of fact, I don’t like him either.”

“All excellent reasons.”

“Don’t count too much on my friendship, Gwaine. In this matter, I’m powerless. Besides, I might lose ten thousand francs.”

“I get your point. Yes, I have the letters of transit.” Everyone knew he had them apparently. From here on, he had to walk a fine line for his plan to work. “But I intend on using them myself. Tonight I’m leaving Casablanca, on the last plane out.”

“Oh, really?” Leon raised an eyebrow.

“And I’m taking a friend with me. One you’ll appreciate.”

“What friend?”

“Merlin Emrys.” Gwaine paused to let that sink in. “That should put your mind at rest about my helping Pendragon escape. He’s the last man I want to see in America.”

“Very interesting. However, you didn’t need to come here to tell me this. You have the letters. You can just fill in your names and leave any time you like. Why are you interested in what happens to Pendragon?”

“I’m not. But I am interested in what happens with Merlin Emrys and me. I want to make sure no one will interfere with our leaving. People have been held here against their rights.”

Leon lit a cigarette and contemplated Gwaine. He came to some sort of decision, leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. “Gwaine, we’ve been friends for a long time. I need to tell you something in confidence. You must keep absolutely silent about this or it could mean our lives, possibly even Merlin and Arthur’s.”

“I’m listening.” Gwaine’s muscles tensed.

“I’m sure you’re aware there’s a resistance cell in Casablanca. Almost no one knows that I’m involved in it. My only contact is Elyan - not even Arthur or Merlin know - and through me they know all about what Uther and the Germans are up to.”

“You’re quite the actor, Leon. I had no idea.” 

“My mother was a sorcerer and I dabble in the occasional magic myself. Comes in handy with the ladies. So I’ve a natural affinity for the cause. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know before. But I see now that we need to work together, if you’re taking an active role with regard to Arthur Pendragon’s fate.”

“I appreciate your trust in me.”

“I’ve watched you for years, Gwaine. I know at heart you’re a rank sentimentalist and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“All right, I won’t.” This new information about Leon certainly made Gwaine’s job easier, but his ultimate plan still required discretion. “My interest here is in Merlin Emrys, as I said. Merlin and I have an idea to deceive Uther and spring Arthur. Since you’re on our side, I can give you the full details. Arthur is to tell Uther that he’s had a change of heart and that he’s returning to Uther’s side; he’s seen the error of his ways and decided that magic is evil after all. The reason is that Merlin is leaving him for me, so Arthur hates everything associated with him.”

“Oh ho! I was right about you two after all. But is this true?”

“Well. The plan is for Merlin and I to use the letters of transit to go to America. Merlin has had some difficulties with his magic and he seems to think that I’m the key to his magic. So he wants me to go with him instead of Arthur. There we will work to convince America to enter the war on our side. They’ve been developing contacts over there, in particular, Arthur’s step-sister Morgana has done a lot of groundwork and she thinks the President is on the verge of declaring for our side. In the meantime, America can provide crucial weaponry and supplies.”

“And what of Arthur? What will he do?”

“He’ll return to Uther, as I said, and work undercover for the magical rights movement. His goal will be to assassinate Uther.”

Leon raised his eyebrows. “Is he willing to do that? Uther is his father, after all.”

“Merlin thinks so. Arthur hates his father and his movement. If Uther dies, we’re hoping NatPom will implode.”

“I like the odds on that outcome. ”

“Merlin and I will arrange everything with Pendragon in the visitor’s pen. We need you to tell Uther that Arthur is coming back to his side and wants to return to England with him on the next available plane. Make sure you and Pendragon are at the airport half an hour before the plane leaves.”

“Well, it sounds like you and Merlin have everything under control. I will talk to Uther and explain everything. He might be sceptical of Arthur’s change of heart at first, but I think the fact that Arthur is his son and that Uther has always hated Merlin will go a long ways toward convincing him.” Leon nodded and pressed a buzzer. The door opened and Gwaine rose to leave.

“I’m going to miss you, Gwaine.” Leon came and shook his hand. “Now that we’ve both joined up as patriots, I’d have liked the chance to work with you.”

“Maybe some day, you never know. Stranger things have happened.”

“You know, the cafe won’t be the same without you, Gwaine.”

“I’m selling the club to Alined and I’ve already spoken to him. You’ll still win at roulette.” Gwaine grinned. He’d miss Leon too. In a curious way, they’d bonded and Gwaine enjoyed their conversations. Sometimes he’d wondered if they were the only two sane people in Casablanca.

“Tell me. When we searched the place, where were the letters of transit?”

“In Percy’s piano.”

“Serves me right for not being musical.” 

As Gwaine walked out of Leon’s office, he breathed a sigh of relief that the first part of his plan had gone off without a hitch. Leon’s revelation had made it easier. Dealing with Pendragon wouldn’t be a problem, not with what he was offering, which wasn’t at all what he’d told Leon. Gwaine had to talk to Arthur alone, without Merlin.Then he’d head over to Alined to sell the club. Alined would no doubt take care of Percy as well. Gwaine owed it to the piano player to set him up after all Percy had done for him. A truer friend he’d never have.

Night fell. The city outside grew hushed as the curfew closed its grip. Gwaine sat alone in his bar and prayed that everything would go as he’d planned. He held the letters of transit in his hand. Just words, black printed on plain white paper, but their promise had caused so much anguish in the last few days. Soon two names would be written on them. Two men would fly into the starry sky above Casablanca toward the freedom of Lisbon, and from there to America. In a familiar pattern, Gwaine would start a new life from the ashes of the old. Maybe this would be the last time.

A car pulled up outside the bar entrance.

Gwaine’s pulse quickened and he braced himself for what was to come. He opened the door and Merlin rushed in. He was in a state, tense and febrile, and he grabbed Gwaine’s elbows with an iron-like grip.

“Is Arthur here yet?”

“There’s been a hange in plans. Leon’s bringing him to the airport. The less time to think, the better for all of us, I think.”

“To the airport? Why? That’s not what we talked about. Why does he need to go there? This will be easier if I don’t have to see him.” 

“He wants to leave for England with Uther as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He didn’t look happy about it. “Is everything else arranged?” Merlin asked.

“Yes, everything’s quite all right.” He had to keep Merlin calm. He looked like he was about to blow his head off, with gold singeing the edges of his pupils. “Please trust me, darling.” He had to. It was imperative for the plan to work. 

Merlin stared at him for a moment, as if coming to a decision. “Yes, I will.” The gold in his eyes faded to blue. “Oh, Gwaine. We’re really doing this, aren’t we.” Merlin moved his hands to Gwaine’s waist and he felt the bulge of the gun inside Gwaine’s jacket. His eyes went wide. “Why are you carrying it around? Gwaine, what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry. It’s just for insurance. You know as well as I do how dangerous Uther is. We can’t be too careful.”

“I don’t like it.”

“We need to go. The plane will be leaving soon.” He moved out of Merlin’s grip toward the door. His heart was cracking in two but he just had to hold on a bit longer.

*

The airport was so socked in with fog the airplane on the tarmac was barely visible. Gwaine and Merlin got out of the taxi. Leon and Arthur were standing there waiting, a couple of gendarmes nearby.

“Leon, have your man go with Mr. Pendragon and take care of his luggage,” Gwaine said. He took the letters of transit out of his pocket and handed them to Leon. His heart kicked a tattoo against his ribs. “If you don’t mind, you fill in the names. That will make it more official.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Leon remarked.

Gwaine leaned in and spoke softly. “And the names are Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon.”

Leon looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“Gwaine, what are you doing?” Merlin asked, his voice rough. “I don’t understand.” His eyes flared gold. He looked like he either wanted to punch Gwaine or run away.

“Because you’re getting on that plane with Arthur, Merlin.” Gwaine’s chest ached as he forced himself to maintain eye contact with Merlin.

“I don’t understand. What about you?” 

It was hard to make the words come out. “I’m staying here with Leon until the plane is safely away.”

Merlin’s expression grew horrified as he began to comprehend what was going on. “No! That’s not what was supposed to happen. We’re to be together. We agreed. Why are you doing this?”

“Merlin. Last night we said many things. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since then. It all adds up to one conclusion: you’re getting on that plane with Arthur where you belong.”

“No, Gwaine, I... you - ”

“You’ve got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what would happen to you if you stayed here? We’d probably both end up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that right, Leon?”

Leon was writing on the letters. “I’m afraid Uther would insist.”

“You’re saying this only to make me go,” Merlin said. “What will you do if I go?”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. We both know in the end you’ve got to be with Arthur. You can’t deny it. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. You’re his contact with the magical world, the other side of the coin. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not on it, you’ll regret it.”

“I can’t do it any more, Gwaine. I want to be with you. I need you for my magic to work. Remember what happened in Paris? You’re the key. Arthur can carry on without me. He doesn’t need me. I’m not sure he even wants me.”

“No, Merlin, that’s not true, don’t be ridiculous. You’re a crucial element of the magical cause. Without you, the chances of winning are much smaller. Your power is unique. Arthur needs you, and you need him. And didn’t you tell me that you didn’t learn how to control your magic until you met Arthur? I’m not the person you need to be with. I’m just a saloon keeper.”

“No.” Merlin clung to Gwaine’s arm, his face the picture of anguish.

“You’ll regret not going with Arthur. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.” Gwaine’s stomach twisted tight. His gaze flicked over Merlin’s features, trying to memorise them for the future.

“But what about us?” Merlin’s eyes shimmered indigo in the foggy night air. Gwaine wanted more than anything for him to stay but some things were bigger than both of them. This was what needed to be done. Merlin had to see that.

“We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we’d lost it until you came to Casablanca, but we got it back last night.”

“When I said I would never leave you.” Merlin swallowed and his chest heaved.

“And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do too. And so do you. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. And the same goes for me. We’ve each got our roles in what’s going to happen now and it’s not going to work if we’re together. You need to be with Arthur and I need to be on my own. Merlin, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.”

Merlin’s eyes welled up as he looked at Gwaine. Gwaine’s own eyes were watery.

“I could stop you, you know,” Merlin said.

“But you won’t. Because you know what I’m doing is right. You’ll get on that plane because it’s your destiny and Arthur’s.”

Merlin’s took a shaky breath and looked out at the ghostly plane, then back at Gwaine.

“You know it needs to be this way.” Gwaine put his hand on Merlin’s cheek. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Arthur came back and Gwaine quickly removed his hand. Arthur glanced between Gwaine and Merlin, but he didn’t say anything. Leon handed Gwaine the letters.

“Is everything in order?” Arthur asked.

“All except one thing. There’s something you should know,” Gwaine said.

“Gwaine, you don’t need to explain anything,” Arthur said, as if he sensed what Gwaine was about to say.

“I’m going to anyway because it may make a difference to you later on. I have a feeling you know about Merlin and me.”

“I know a few things.” 

Merlin looked at Arthur with alarm.

“What you don’t know is that Merlin was at my place with me while you were at the meeting last night. He came there to get the letters of transit. Isn’t that true, Merlin?”

“Yes, it’s true.” Merlin continued to look at Arthur. He sounded shell-shocked.

“He tried everything to get them and nothing worked. He did his best to convince me he was still in love with me, but that was all over long ago. For your sake, he pretended it wasn’t and I let him pretend.”

Arthur stared at Merlin,swallowed, then took his hand. “I understand.”

“Here are the letters.” Arthur took them.

“Thank you. We appreciate it. How much do we owe you?”

“Nothing. You’ll need that money in Lisbon and America. Consider it a contribution to the cause.”

Arthur let go of Merlin’s hand to shake Gwaine’s firmly. “And welcome back to the fight. This time, I know we’ll win.”

“I hope so.”

“As do we all,” Merlin said quietly.

The plane’s propellers started up with a roar. The three of them looked at each other. Gwaine hoped that Merlin would understand and forgive him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Are you ready, Merlin?” Arthur said, taking his hand again.

Merlin looked at Arthur and gave him a fleeting smile, his expression less conflicted. Apparently he’d started to accept the situation. “Yes, I’m ready.” He turned to Gwaine. “Goodbye, Gwaine. God bless you.”

Gwaine nodded, then pulled Merlin to him for a quick hug to hide the tears in his eyes. Merlin clung to him and Gwaine could hear his breath hitch. Then he let him go. “You better go or you’ll miss the plane.”

He and Leon watched as Arthur and Merlin marched out to the plane together, almost disappearing in the fog.

“I was right,” Leon observed. “You’re a rank sentimentalist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Leon took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. “What you just did for Pendragon and that fairy tale you invented to get Merlin to go with him. I know a little about love, my friend. Merlin went, but he knew you were lying.”

“Anyway, thanks for helping me out.” Gwaine wasn’t about to deny it. He hurt too much.

The flight attendant closed the door of the plane and it began to taxi down the runway. A car sped into the airport, brakes screeching. When it stopped, Uther jumped out.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded of Leon. “I went to the jail to see my son and they told me you’d brought him here to the airport.” 

“Arthur and Merlin are on that plane,” Leon said, nodding toward the tarmac.

Uther frowned. “Why are you standing here? Why aren’t you stopping him?” He glanced at Gwaine. “And why is he here?”

“I’d prefer not to answer that right now, if you don’t mind,” Leon said mildly.

Uther bolted into the hangar and snatched up the telephone.

Gwaine pulled out his gun and pointed it at Uther. “Stop right there,” he said. “Get away from that phone.”

Uther paused and turned toward Gwaine to see his his gun. “I would advise you not to interfere,” he said in a steely voice. “I knew you were trouble, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“I’m more than willing to shoot you.” 

Uther looked toward the plane, then back at Gwaine. “Hello?” he barked into the telephone. “Hello?”

“Drop it!” Gwaine warned.

“Get me the radio tower!” 

“Put down the phone!” Gwaine repeated.

Uther whipped out a gun and shot at Gwaine. He missed and Gwaine pulled the trigger. He didn’t miss. Uther fell to the ground. The phone dangled on its cord. A police car careened into the airport, its siren blaring, and four gendarmes jumped out. Gwaine’s heart rat-a-tatted as he checked the progress of the plane. It was preparing for take-off. Finally. Just a few more minutes and it would be safely in the air.

“Mon capitaine!” one of the gendarmes saluted Leon.

“Major Pendragon’s been shot,” Leon informed him. He glanced at Gwaine, who looked back without expression. “Round up the usual suspects.” He didn’t say anything about Gwaine.

“Oui, mon capitaine.” The gendarmes gathered Uther’s body and dumped it in the police car and drove off.

Gwaine and Leon were left alone. They watched the plane take off and disappear into the dark clouds. 

Gwaine bade a silent farewell to Merlin, hoping to meet him again some day when the world became free. In a strange way, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He would always feel a tie to Merlin, but he no longer carried a torch. He was free of the bitter pain caused by Merlin abandoning him at the train station.

Another car tore into the airport. Gwaine watched in alarm as it jerked to a stop in front of them, wondering what else could possibly happen. To his relief, out of it climbed Percy and Elyan. 

“Percy!” Gwaine’s chest filled with warmth at the sight of his old friend. “Who is this?”

“That, Gwaine, is Elyan, the man from the resistance whom I mentioned to you,” Leon said.

“Hello, Mr. O’Rourke,” Elyan said. “I’ve been in your club, but we’ve never met. Welcome to our merry little band.” He came forward to clasp Gwaine’s hand. Elyan looked back at Percy and Gwaine understood.

“Percy, you devil. You’re as good an actor as Leon here. You’ve been attending those meetings and I never knew.”

Percy dipped his head. “They make a big deal about secrecy, Gwaine. I thought you’d left all that behind and weren’t interested.”

“I wasn’t. Things changed.” He looked up where the sky had swallowed the plane. He clapped Percy on his ridiculously solid arm and grinned at him. “So, let’s talk.”

The four of them, Gwaine, Leon, Percy and Elyan, strolled toward the runway.

“It might be a good idea for you two to disappear from Casablanca for a while,” Leon said to Gwaine and Percy. “There’s a Free French garrison in Brazzaville. I could arrange for your passage. You too, Elyan, if you’re looking for some adventure or a change of scenery.”

“Our letters of transit?” Gwaine asked. “I could use a trip. But don’t forget our bet. You owe me ten thousand francs.”

“And that ten thousand francs should pay our expenses.”

“Our expenses?” Gwaine asked.

“Yes.”

“Leon, I think this the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

The four of them disappeared into the night.


End file.
